


A Wrinkle in Time

by CaptainLyssa



Series: Wrinkle In Time Universe [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternative Universe - Caretaker, Angst and Drama, F/M, Gen, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLyssa/pseuds/CaptainLyssa
Summary: Caretaker from a very different POV. Tom is still an observer, Janeway the consummate Federation Captain and Chakotay leader of the Maquis. B'Elanna is taken by the Caretaker, but not for the reasons in cannon. Will she and her companion, trapped in the subterranean world of the Ocampa ever understand why? Or, more importantly, how to escape!
Relationships: Chakotay & Kathryn Janeway, Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Series: Wrinkle In Time Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589122
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Stardate 48277.8: Unchained

In the land of the long white cloud, this immaculate blue day appeared to poke fun at New Zealand’s Federation Penal Settlement situated just outside the capital of Auckland. Or, perhaps, it knew a fresh start was about to be offered to one of its inmates. An ankle-tag secured on his right foot, Mr. Thomas Eugene Paris, former Starfleet Officer and Maquis Rebel found himself busy attending to an electrical sub-router on an elevated walkway above one of the sections of reclaimed land. Reclamation Park would soon welcome visitors from across the galaxy as a marvel of modern terraforming. They would have the opportunity to see the wonders of New Zealand’s natural flora and fauna, which had disappeared a century or more ago. Standing on the metal span above the prisoners assigned work station, Captain Kathryn Janeway watched the prisoner use a laser welder, piecing together two electrical sections of lighting for the arial skywalk.

“Tom Paris?” The Captain enquired with a slight lifting of her lips. The son of Admiral Own Paris, this young man’s reputation preceded him. Waiting until she gained his attention, the woman added, “I’m Kathryn Janeway. I served with your father on the _Al-Batani_.”

Watching him carefully, Captain Janeway saw the weariness enter his expression. Mention of his parent earned Tom’s immediate hesitancy and distrust. She knew of the family situation. Admiral Paris had briefed her personally.

Tom’s eyes flicked to the pips on her collar. Mr. Paris could not fail to understand the woman’s rank. He’d graduated from the Starfleet academy as one of it’s most talented but overconfident pilots. Unfortunately, he also gained a well-deserved reputation for being brash and had, therefore, been labelled a little too sure of himself, a label that stuck after the incident on Caldik Prime. One the young man seemed determined to keep with the weary insolence in his expression.

“I wonder if we could go somewhere and talk,” she offered softly, unsure if he would accept.

Sweeping a hand before her, Kathryn indicated a narrow pathway between the verdant greenery a short distance away. Nodding to the officer-in-charge of the work party, Captain Janeway turned her back on the prisoner and strolled into the thick undergrowth. Unconcerned if he joined her, Kathryn knew she could not leave this Penal Settlement without the young man’s help. Too much depended on it.

“About what?” Tom enquired, a little ill at ease when he caught up to the woman. Looking back over his shoulder, he noticed the guard smirk and turn back towards the other inmates. It seemed the phaser at Captain Janeway’s waist, along with his anklet, would be enough of a deterrent from attempting escape.

Stopping suddenly, Katheryn turned to face the now confused younger man with a wide, disarming smile, “about a job we'd like you to do for us.”

“I'm already doing a job for the Federation,” Tom responded with a trademark smirk that disguised his true emotions. He’d allowed only a few people close enough to call friend, keeping his shell of rogue well and truly in place for the majority. Too much hurt lay behind his all-seeing baby blues to trust anyone easily, especially himself or his decisions. In Tom Paris’s opinion, the Captain’s easy smirk meant trouble, more particularly for him!

“I've been told the Rehabilitation Commission is very pleased with your work,” she offered easily, internally rolling her eyes. Mr. Paris was living up to his reputation, one that seemed well deserved on paper. Yet, there were a few at the academy, and within Starfleet, still willing to speak well of the young man. “The board met with Starfleet representatives this morning. They have given me their approval to discuss an important matter with you.”

Once again glancing over his shoulder, Tom weighed his options. Wondering what Starfleet could possibly want with a washout, he replied with a calculating smirk, “well then, I guess I'm yours.”

Unable to show either her relief or reluctance, Katheryn Janeway recommended her stroll through the trees. Looking around, she applauded the work, regenerating the natural environment, and yet protecting it from the thousands of visitors who would come to see this marvel of unique flora and fauna. Carefully, she commenced on her mission, with the same level of dedication and care she’d shown throughout her illustrious career.

“Your father taught me a great deal,” she watched for any reaction to her words. The intense feelings between Tom Paris and his father remained, yet they seemed to be of shame and rejection in the young man’s case. _Not what Owen led me to expect from his son,_ Kathryn considered. She felt compelled to make a subtle reference to her history with the Admiral, as a test of his character. “I was his science officer during the Arias expedition.”

“You must be good,” Tom attempted to elevate his disquiet by using an ironic tone. “My father only accepted the best and the brightest while defending the Federation-Cardassian boarder, before he got suck behind a desk in San Fransisco.” _And I should know, because I always seemed to be a disappointment to him. If he’d only let me try out for the Federation Naval Patrol, and not insisted on Starfleet, things might have turned out differently. He never understood, all I wanted to do was fly and that was all the Maquis wanted from me._

When the Captain didn’t respond, Tom smirked. “I remember hearing all about the Admiral’s days as the Captain on an Excelsior class starship. But you didn’t come here to reminisce with me, Captain, especially about Federation/Cardassian relations. After all, that entire situation is what landed me in my current situation. What is it you want from me?”

Feeling the time was right, Kathryn stated, “I'm leaving on a mission to find a Maquis ship that disappeared in the Badlands a week ago.”

“I wouldn't if I were you,” Tom responded immediately, intently watching her reaction to his harsh words.

“Really?” The Captain said when the pause became long enough to assume Mr. Paris would say no more.

Not sure what the woman expected from him, Tom offered with a grin, “I've never seen a Federation starship that could manoeuvre through the plasma storms.”

Allowing her eyebrows to quirk upwards, Janeway announced, “you’ve never seen a Federation ship like Voyager. We'd like you to come along.”

 _Now I understand,_ Tom attempted to hide his reaction. “You'd like me to lead you to my former colleagues?” He appreciated the rational but not the reason for his inclusion. “I was only with the Maquis a few weeks before I was captured, Captain,” he explained thoughtfully. “I don't know where most of their hiding places are.”

“You know the territory better than anyone we've got,” Katheryn sighed, glancing towards the trees.

“What's so important about this particular Maquis ship?” Tom asked, intrigued.

Although both the Federation and Cardassian’s labeled the Maquis outlaw’s, many were just normal people trying to stop tyranny infecting their home worlds. The stories he’d heard, the atrocities inflicted on innocent populations while training for his first mission, affected Thomas Eugene Paris more than anyone realised. He’d been caught, charged with mutiny and sent to this penal colony on that same mission. The captain of his ship, Chakotay, thought of Tom Paris as a gun for hire, little more than a drunken mercenary. He’d been more accurate than Tom Paris liked to admit, before joining the band of fighters. Yet, as the pilot, Tom managed to allow the rest of the crew to flee undetected, escaping both Starfleet and Cardassian capture. He’d sacrificed himself to save the others onboard.

Watching the expressions rapidly cross the young man’s face, Janeway decided on the direct approach. Somehow, she knew Tom Paris would react better to honesty. Something undefinable flickered in his eyes. If only Janeway could understand it, she knew she could bend Mr. Paris to her will without him realising.

“My Chief of Security was on board,” Kathryn answered easily, “undercover. He was supposed to report in twice during the last six days. He didn't.”

“Maybe,” Tom theorised, remembering his own time with the Maquis, “it's just your Chief of Security who's disappeared.”

“Maybe,” Janeway responded, understanding the reference, and Mr. Paris only too well. Yet, she couldn’t lose hope that Tuvok remained loyal to the Federation and very much alive. The young man’s response told her much he probably didn’t want to reveal. “That ship was under the command of another former Starfleet officer.” Pausing, Katheryn stated, “I understand you knew him. His name is Chakotay”

Suddenly Tom’s face fell as memories assaulted him. He could see the Indian’s face, tribal tattoo above his left eye. In the weeks he’d been with the Maquis, the man never trusted him, especially… _I can’t think about that time,_ Tom forced his hand to remain at his side. Whenever he thought about **_her_** , his fingers found their way to his cheek.

“That's right,” he said in a near whisper, his eyes looking into the distance but seeing another reality.

“The two of you didn't get along too well, I'm told,” Janeway offered in a concerned tone. His reaction, indecipherable, Katheryn hoped to get to the bottom of it before embarking on this mission. It seemed more went on while Tom Paris trained with the Maquis than anyone understood.

“Chakotay will tell you he left Starfleet on principle, to defend his home colony from the Cardassians,” Tom managed to round up some of his old bravado. “I, on the other hand, was forced to resign. He considered me a mercenary, willing to fight for anyone who'd pay my bar bill. Trouble is, he was right. I have no problem helping you track down my friends in the Maquis, Captain. All I need to know from you is what's in it for me.”

“You help us find that ship,” Janeway stopped, pausing to watch his reaction, “we help you at your next outmeet review.”

“Ah ha,” was all he could offer, still thinking about the consequences of a shortened sentence. He’d served twelve months of his five-year term. By the time managed to be paroled, _but I won’t think about that!_

“Officially, you'd be a Starfleet observer during the mission,” the Captain clarified. She could see the young man’s mind whirling and hoped to use his confusion to her advantage.

“Observer?” Tom cried. “Oh hell, I'm the best pilot you could have. You’ll need my skills to get through the Badlands, if the Cardassian’s allow you to get that far.”

“You'll be an observer,” she reiterated. “When it's over, Mr. Paris, you will be cut loose.”

“That might have been the story of my life,” Tom turned to the woman, completely serious in his intent. The grave but urgent glint in his eye stopped Janeway dead in her tracks. Once again that expression, of determination, filled his stance. “But not any more. Don’t look at me like that, Captain. I’m not going to say I’m a changed man, because I’m not. And cutting me loose, it’s not what I want, at least not what I want the most.”

“What,” Kathryn Janeway asked, somewhat astonished this young man would decline such an offer, “is it you really want, Mr. Paris.”

“Immunity,” he stated, “for a young Maquis, if she’s ever caught.”

“That’s a high price for your services,” Janeway stated. “What is this woman to you, Mr. Paris?”

“My wife,” he answered, before walking away, knowing Starfleet would take the offer, especially if they suspected the identity of his partner in life.


	2. Stardate 48313.5: Lost

"Janeway to Bridge," the Captain barked at the ceiling in the Engineering bay. She'd come down to see the damage caused by the displacement wave. Mr. Carey had been attempting to fix a micro fracture in the warp core with the Captain's help, only to be transported to the Array, against her will, along with the remainder of her crew. Having just roused herself from the floor, Captain Kathryn Janeway could only assume they'd once again been transported back to their ship at the behest of the being inhabiting the space station.

Seconds ticked by slowly without a response from the bridge. "Anybody there?" She called again, tapping her com badge and wondering if she were the only being left alive on Voyager.

"Yes, Captain," Mr. Rollins offered. He would never see, nor hear, his captain sigh with relief. "I'm on the bridge with Ensign Kim."

"How long were we over there?" Janeway asked, needing information. It appeared the entire Engineering compliment, or at least what was left of them, were finally rousing from their positions on the floor. When the answer came back, she couldn't believe it. "Three days?"

"Captain," Rollins added in a slightly alarmed voice, "the Maquis ship is powering up its engines."

"Tractor them," she ordered to the nearest crewman. "All senior officers, report to the Bridge immediately. Mr. Rollins, I'm on my way."

"Aye, Captain," he signed off.

Rushing through the hallways to the turbolift, Captain Katheryn Janeway understood the physical damage to her ship to be relatively minor. The displacement wave had caused several systems to overload and blow up, taking the lives of her crew in close proximity. So far, she hadn't seen as many of the one hundred and fifty-five men and women inhabiting Voyager as she'd anticipated on her journey.

_How_ , she wondered, _am I to run a ship without a first and medical officer, amongst other deficiencies in the senior staff, let alone the loss of so many crew when we are seventy thousand light years from home? How many more are missing after being abducted by that entity on the array? Do I even have enough trained personnel to complete repairs, let alone undertake such an arduous journey home?_

"Ensign Kim to Captain Janeway," Harry's voice came over the com the moment the turbolift doors closed out deck eleven and Engineering.

"Go ahead," she offered, internally rolling her eyes. Something told the Captain the being on the array was not done with Voyager yet. The scientist in her demanded an explanation. The Captain wanted to know how they could return home after they'd been deposited halfway across the galaxy.

"Ma'am, Ensign Rollins and I are the only officers on the bridge," Kim stated, nervously. This was Harry's first assignment. Never had he considered being a ranking officer, let alone on the bridge, even in an emergency.

"Acknowledged," Janeway responded as the lift doors opened and she marched to her command seat. Noting the damage, it seemed minor in comparison to the fact almost every station was unattended. Lifting her head, she requested, "Computer, how many crewmen are unaccounted for?"

"None," it offered in a disembodied voice.

Considering her options carefully, Janeway knew she couldn't risk losing another person from Voyager. They were dangerously understaffed with the losses from the displacement wave. Then the sudden though crossed her mind. Mr. Paris would not be counted as crew. No matter his designation, Tom Paris might be the only experienced pilot remaining on her ship. She needed him now, more than ever.

"Our observer?" The Captain barked as a heaviness settled in the pit of her stomach.

She knew the answer before the computer announced, "Mr. Paris not on board."

"Hail the Maquis, Ensign Kim," the Captain ordered with a sigh. Waiting until the screen showed an image of a distinguished looking middle-aged man, Janeway stated, "Commander Chakotay, my name is Captain Kathryn Janeway. We were on a mission to find you when we were brought here by the array. We had an observer onboard. He is now missing. Was he transported back to your ship by accident?"

A little confused, Chakotay watched the captain's body language. Used to living on the edge, he knew there was something the Starfleet officer failed to add. "No," he stated, wondering how Janeway knew his name. Undoubtedly, they had suffered the same loss of crew in the temporal shift. A simple scan revealed both the Maquis and Federation ship had travelled over seventy thousand light years from the Alpha quadrant. With the array sitting a hundred kilometres off their bows, it would seem both ships suffered the same fate. Seeing no reason to dissemble, he said, "a member of our crew is missing too, B'Elanna Torres, my engineer."

"Commander," Janeway noted the Starfleet training in the Marquis officer and decided to treat him as an equal, at least for the moment, "you and I have the same problem. I think it makes sense to try and solve it together, don't you?"

"Three of us will transport to your ship," he stated, giving the signal to kill the transmission. Both commanders knew it would be the only acknowledgement the Maquis captain chose give.

"Put down your weapons. You won't need those here," Janeway ordered as three men appeared on her bridge. Both her crew and the Maquis complied immediately, although she didn't know how long the good will gesture would last. Tuvok maintained his cover, waiting for his superior officer to make her intentions known. "It's good to have you back, Mr. Tuvok," the Captain greeted her long-time colleague and friend easily, informing him this mission was now at an end.

"Is it good to be back, Captain," Tuvok responded. Turning to face Chakotay, he answered the unasked question in the commander's eyes. "I must inform you that I was assigned to infiltrate your crew, Sir. I am Captain Janeway's Chief of Security."

The Captain allowed Tuvok and Chakotay to discuss the current situation with the odd interjection from Ensign Kim. If they were to work together, the men needed to air their differences before the going got harder. Her ever dedicated Vulcan Security Officer took to his station, providing more data about their current situation. It appeared they'd been scanned by the beings on the array and their biological data found wanting. Which begged the question, what did the array want with Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres? Why weren't they returned with the rest of the crew?

"Break out the compression phaser rifles, Mr Tuvok," Janeway broke into the discussion when she felt they'd learnt all they needed to in order to form a rescue mission, "and meet us in Transporter Room two. We're going back to that array to get our people. Mr. Chakotay and I will be looking for Torres and Paris. Mr. Tuvok, your job is to find out as much about this array as you can. If it brought us here, we have to assume it can send us home. Agreed?"

Chakotay nodded but looked somewhat disconcerted. "Paris?" He questioned with a neutral expression before anyone had time to move toward the turbolift. This was the first time he'd heard the observer's name mentioned. Surely it couldn't be the same Thomas Paris, son of Admiral Own Paris who'd joined his crew a little over a year previously, only to be captured on his first assignment with the Maquis. Last he'd heard of the trouble maker, Paris was cooling his heals in a Federation penal colony for mutiny. Only his harsh sentence convinced the Maquis that Tom Paris had not been a spy, sent by the Federation to infiltrate their ranks.

_Then_ , Chakotay recalled, _there was the mess he left behind. If he and Torres are together, maybe I won't have to worry. B'Elanna's Klingon temper will do what most of us wanted to._

"Mr. Rollins, maintain Red alert," Janeway locked eyes with Chakotay, unwilling to add further to the tense atmosphere. He'd know soon enough that Voyager's Paris was the same man who'd once run with the Maquis. "Keep us on constant transporter lock. You have the bridge."


	3. Stardate 48308.7: Reunion

Tom roused slowly. The room was white, almost blindingly white, forcing him to keep his eyes tightly closed. It smelled clean to the point of asepsis, as if he were in sick bay. Thoughts of the accident on Caldik Prime rushed into his mind. In a microsecond, he relived the crash over again, expecting to see the bodies of his three crew mates laid out on the tables beside him. Eyes flying open, Tom looked wildly around, only to see he was exactly where he thought, in a hospital. Yet, it was like no hospital on any Federation world he’d ever encountered.

Beneath him the bed was hard and ridged, not Starfleet standard issue. His hand came up to his cheek, as it always did when he felt nervous, lost or alone. The gesture reminded him of happier times, creating a brief flicker of light in his otherwise desolate existence. Almost at the same moment he heard a moan from the bed on the other side of the room. Before Tom Paris could identify the figure reclining in a similar fashion, a face appeared above him.

“He's regaining consciousness,” the feminine tone infused the words directly into his mind.

“How do you feel?” A second voice entered his neural cortex as the image of a male came into view.

It took several seconds for Tom to understand these humanoid beings were telepathic. Dressed in white, the medical staff matched their surroundings. Still a little disoriented, he looked wildly around. Finally noticing the woman on the opposite bed, he pushed aside the attendants with every intention of getting off the table and going to her.

“Where am I?” He demanded, managing to sit up. Tom’s eyes were only for the half human figure swimming on the other side of the room. As his vision finally cleared, bringing her into focus, his heart leapt into his mouth. The woman was Maquis and well known to him. “What are we doing here?”

“Please,” the feminine voice requested verbally, “don't try to move yet. You are very ill.”

“There's some mistake,” Tom drew his attention back to the medical attendant. He felt a little dizzy, but that was fading quickly as his vision had cleared. Unconcerned for himself, he tried to get off the bed. He needed to get to B’Elanna before she woke completely, or he wouldn’t be held responsible for her reaction to the strange environment. If there was one aspect of their pervious relationship he remembered only to well, it was how much she hated surprises.

“No!” The screech, undoubtedly, could be heard from the other side of this complex. B’Elanna had woken, as expected, and reacted on instinct.

“Too late,” Tom muttered under his breath.

B’Elanna jumped from supine to vertical like the warrior she was. The male attendant, who had been leaning over her, fell to the ground as the half Human, half Klingon woman pushed him away. The medic attending Tom hurried to aid her colleague as several extra personnel rushed through the door, ready to calm the situation by any means possible.

“B’Elanna,” Tom cried. As he’d hopped, the unexpected sound of his voice instantaneously stopped the fear and rage he noted in her deep brown eyes, or at least redirected it. He hurried over to her, before she could inflict any more damage on their hosts.

Shocked at seeing him, she paused, before spinning around to face the man she’d not seen for a little over a year. “You,” she screeched, furiously lumbering across the room directly towards him.

Fists at the ready, she managed to get one punch to his jaw before Tom Paris spun her around, his arms encircling her in a tight clasp. Not happy to be in his embrace, B’Elanna struggled to free herself. Human he might be, but Tom Paris was stronger than he looked. He’d had to be, to marry the woman currently struggling to break his hold. Anyone weaker would never have survived their initial bonding.

“Stop it, B’Elanna,” Tom begged in a harsh whisper. Unable and unwilling to release her, Paris nodded towards the door. “They’ve called in reinforcements. One of them looks like they have a hypo filled with a sedative. Do you want to be knocked out again? Before we can work out where we are and why we’ve been brought here.”

“I hate you,” she declared, closing her eyes and attempting to calm her rapid breathing caused by the surge of adrenaline, and the nearness of her mate.

“I think I got that,” Tom teased, trying to break the moment with his usual level of levity, “way back when I shoved you into that cargo pod and ejected you and the rest of the crew off of the Maquis ship.”

“That,” she spat in return, “was our newest and fastest ship. You let it fall into the hands of the Federation.”

“Hey, he who walks away,” Tom let the irony enter his tone, “lives to fight another day. Well, here you are B’Elanna, living to fight another day.”

“Just how did you get here?” She demanded, finally remembering being beamed aboard the array, but not much else.

“That’s a long story,” he grinned down at her mischievously.

“Just exactly where is here, anyway?” B’Elanna challenged. When she couldn’t get an answer out of the man still holding her, she growled and broke away from his embrace. _Only because_ , her mind supplied, _he let you_.

“I hope you're feeling better,” the medic spoke, the pair before him now seemed calm enough to listen. “I know how frightening all this must be for both of you. I've brought some clothes if you'd care to change.”

Ignoring her husband’s look of suppressed delight, B’Elanna walked over to the being. Hands on hips, she came close enough to enter his personal space. “Why are you holding us here?” She demanded.

Tom shook his head. “Nothing much has changed,” he muttered, both relieved she hadn’t altered and apprehensive that B’Elanna would make this situation so much more difficult than it needed to be.

“You are not prisoners. In fact, we consider you honoured guests. The Caretaker has sent you to us. As long as you are not violent, you are free to leave these quarters which have been set aside for your use,” he answered in a mild tone. “You must be hungry. Would you care to join me on the courtyard for a meal? Perhaps afterward, we can take a tour of the city?”

Watching B’Elanna fold her arms across her chest told Tom she was having none of this nice guy routine. He interrupted before she could refuse their captors hospitality. “If you could give us a moment,” he indicated the duel piles of clothing, “we’ll get dressed and join you in a few minutes.”

Nodding, the five attendants filed out of the room and finally left them alone. Sighing, Tom Paris waited for it. B’Elanna didn’t disappoint him.

“I don’t take orders from them, and I defiantly don’t take orders from you, Flyboy,” she stated in a deadly tone.

“You never did,” Tom responded with a weary sigh. He calmed his voice, trying to maintain a reasonable tone so she’d listen to him. “B’Elanna, I know you were with Chakotay on the Maquis ship _Val Jean_ that entered the Badlands a couple of weeks ago. I can only assume the displacement wave that brought _Voyager_ here had the same effect on your craft. We lost a third of our crew and are seventy thousand light years from our home in the Alpha Quadrant. The last thing I remember, the entity on the Array transported everyone on _Voyager_ , at least what was left of them, to some sort of holodeck which acted as a waiting room. We discovered the Maquis crew before the entity was ready to process us. I,” swallowing hard, Tom Paris allowed the emotions he felt to infuse his words, “saw what they’d done to you.”

Blue eye’s clashed with brown. Tom attempted to infuse the feeling that assaulted him the moment he witnessed her naked body, floating with a stake through her heart. He hadn’t been able to control his emotions and didn’t want the rest of Voyager’s crew to see his very personal reaction. Making his way to the back of the crowd, the world suddenly went black and he’d woken up here.

“I,” he continued, the image still fresh in his mind, “I thought you were dead, B’Elanna.”

“Hoped,” she glared at him.

“ ** _No_** ,” the word came out much more harshly than he’d intended as Tom’s expression openly displayed his shock. “Look, I’m going to get dressed into what ever passes for fashion around here,” he announced with more heat in his tone than he would have liked. “Then I’m going to let that medic tell me whatever he wants about this place. When I have enough information, I’ll either try to contact Voyager or plan an escape. I could really use your help.”

Nodding, Torres turned her back on the man, even though she had a million questions running rampant in her mind. Such has how had he been released from prison? Why was he on a ship that followed her halfway across the galaxy? How did he know about the Maquis movements? What did Tom Paris still mean to her? More importantly, what did she mean to him? Why were they prisoners together in this place?

Pride and hurt mixed in equal proportion. Her husband, to use one of his favourite 20th century expressions, **_got_** her in a way no one else ever had, not even her parents. He’d met her at her worst. She’d been down and out, but Tom had showed her that life was still worth living and stayed around when her Klingon frustration got the better of her Human sensibilities. From the moment they’d crashed into each other six years ago, they seemed fated to be together. He’d saved her life at the cost of his freedom, and then left her to face the disgrace of being a Federation traitor on his own. Even now, after all this time apart, he allowed her to keep her pride. It was the similarity of their past that first brought them together, and their differences that tore them apart.

“I believe,” B’Elanna finally spoke, “if we work together, we both might get out of this alive. Then you can go back to your ship and I’ll go back to mine.”

“Fine by me,” Tom muttered under his breath. His heart, bruised and battered, threatened to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. He’d lost nearly everything that mattered to him in this universe, mostly through his own mistakes. He didn’t know if he could let B’Elanna go a third time, and live to tell the tale.


	4. Stardate 48308.8: A Little History

“Our food dispensers are right this way,” the Ocampa medic, known as Jal, indicated as the strangers emerged from the hospital building.

It seemed Jal had been appointed as their personal guide. Instead of sharing a meal, Jal took Tom and B’Elanna on a tour, explaining the layout and culture of the Ocampan city. As Tom could have predicted, B’Elanna didn’t let the man get more than a few steps ahead of her. Listening to every word, she stored the information, trying to make sense of her new environment and analyse it for any weaknesses she could exploit later. Tom, lagging behind, watched the interaction between B’Elanna and Jal with interest. The new arrivals gathered quite an audience. His sense of survival no less finely honed, Tom picked up on facets of the conversation, and feelings from the crowd that B’Elanna missed.

“We're underground,” Tom stated, looking up into the unmoving sky beyond the transparent roof. It had taken time to understand the vista was only an image.

“Our society is subterranean,” Jal agreed, leading them to a balcony that displayed long pools of water forming plazas within an enormous cave system. “We've lived in this cavern for over five hundred generations.”

“But before that,” B’Elanna jumped on the topic, “you lived on the surface?”

The group of Ocampa surrounding them appeared eager to hear Jal explain their long and complexed history with the Caretaker. It seemed the god like deity sent imprecise images that the elders interpreted, placing their own meaning on the pictures. The same Devine being also provided the power and water to allow the Ocampa to survive in this unnatural environment.

“I'm curious,” Tom tried to keep the sarcasm from his tone. “How do you explain the Caretaker's reason for sending us here?”

“We believe he must have separated you from your own species for their protection,” Jal said. This statement elicited a look of some significance between Tom and B’Elanna. “From time to time, he asks us to care for people. It's the least we can do.”

“There have been others?” B’Elanna eagerly asked, “Like us?”

“Not exactly,” the man hesitated, looking between the pair and the crowd. Moving them into a more isolated area, he finally continued his thoughts. “Often it is only an individual. On occasion, when two or three are sent, they are always of the same species, and similar in looks to the Ocampa. All suffered with disease and their condition was very serious. We don't know exactly how to treat the plague, for we Ocampa are immune to its ravage. I'm afraid the others did not recover.”

“Neither B’Elanna nor I are sick,” Tom injected into the conversation, holding his curiosity at bay. One look at Torres, and he knew she felt as physically fit as he did.

“True,” Jal turned contemplative. “I do not know why the Caretaker has sent you. But then, the Caretaker has never sent us two from different species at the same time, nor a mated pair.”

“How do you know,” B’Elanna almost choked, “we’re married?”

“Married?” Questioned their guide, “is that what your people call a mated pair?”

“B’Elanna,” Tom sighed, remembering the moment as if it was printed on his mind with indelible ink, “and I met six years ago.”

“More like you ran into me, Flyboy,” she retorted, folding her arms defensively across her chest, “in your newly promoted Lieutenants uniform, spilling the contents of my box, and everything I owned, all over the floor.”

“Hey,” Tom cried, allowing his expression to become teasing. It had always gotten under B’Elanna’s skin in the past, and disguised his own emotional insecurities. “I helped you pick up all that stuff, move the rest of your gear and took you out for a meal afterwards to say sorry.”

“Some nocturnal entertainment, you mean,” B’Elanna snorted, raising her chin to glare up at the insufferable man. “Just so you didn’t have to go and visit the Admiral.”

Letting out a harsh laugh, Tom reminded the irate woman, “some nocturnal entertainment. We lasted until I shipped out a month later.” Truth be told, he had four weeks furlough between assignments and lacked an excuse not to visit his family. B’Elanna provided that excuse, in the beginning. Then, no matter how good they’d been together, or how much Tom begged, she’d refused to consider following a career officer from one Starfleet base to another. “You weren’t complaining then, B’Elanna.”

“Like I had anyone to complain to,” she returned. He’d been her only confident and companion after exiting the academy. Showering her with understanding and attention, B’Elanna revelled in it, as only an egocentric nineteen-year old could. Unable to return home, friendless and with nothing but her engineering skills to support her, she almost broken down and agreed to follow him.

“My **_wife_** ,” Tom announced the word clearly and carefully to the confused man watching them, “decided to quit Starfleet and join the Maquis. Not that we were married then.”

“I’m not the only one who decided to quit Starfleet, Flyboy,” B’Elanna responded angrily.

“True,” Tom rolled his eyes. He hated remembering that time in his life. Then, B’Elanna knew how to get under his skin as well as he could get under her’s. “Let’s just say that our lives held a lot of similarities back then.”

Snorting once again, B’Elanna shook her head at his audacity. _More like insurmountable differences_ , she thought. A secret smile stole across her face. _Well that’s not entirely true. You proved to be the only human male able to keep up with my nocturnal activities. That’s why I stayed for the entire month, I thought I’d finally found someone to trust, who wouldn’t let me down and who understood my anger at everything and everyone. But like everyone else you left._ That thought didn’t sit well. B’Elanna knew Tom had wanted her to go with him. _The truth is I left you before you could hurt me! Then you came back into my life a few years later, a little less cocky but more damaged. Suddenly I was the one to offer understanding and sympathy. Not that it stopped me taking up with you, biting you on the cheek and stupidly agreeing to get married when you suggested it. Chakotay almost killed the pair of us when he found out we were a couple. I hate to think what he would have said, or done if he knew of our marriage._

“And found ourselves both working for the Maquis,” Tom continued as if the half Klingon part of B’Elanna hadn’t interrupted.

Somewhat confused, Jal watched on. The interaction between the bonded pair seemed overly hostile. His people rarely spoke in anger towards each other, and never between mates. These strangers were very different in almost every way to his people.

“Ocampa mate for life,” Jal injected into the conversation, more than a little confused. “Once we reach our time, a woman undergoes the elogium, selecting the father for her only offspring. Soon after a child is conceived and born.”

“Wait,” Tom suddenly picked up on the odd mating practice. Looking around, he noticed the number of empty seats before the Caretaker’s wall. Now that he thought about it, this entire complex seemed rather, empty. “You only have one child. How do you sustain your population?”

“We do not,” Jal responded sadly, a wondrous expression suddenly appearing on his face. “You have more than a single child for each mated pair?”

“B’Elanna is an only child,” Tom responded. “I have three sisters.”

“Why are your children not with you?” Jal asked. “Six years, I cannot believe you have known each other for so long without producing offspring.”

“You have got to be joking,” B’Elanna almost shouted. Closing her eyes and attempting to control her temper, she explained in a growl, “Flyboy and I don’t have children.”

“You could say,” Tom interrupted before his wife could say more, a wicked grin spreading across his lips, “we haven’t gotten around to that, yet.”

“Then you have not yet gone through your elogium?” Requested the confused gentleman as he turned to face B’Elanna. Jal’s mind raced, wondering at the differences between their species and if this could be the reason for the Caretaker sending a mated pair. They had known each other six years and still appeared very young, young enough to beget offspring.

“Every month,” Tom ground out, rolling his eyes.

B’Elanna’s glare could have killed with its intensity.

“I do not understand,” Jal could not hide his surprise.

“Maybe,” B’Elanna managed to get the words out between gritted teeth, “you not suppose to.”

With that, she stalked off to cool down before she completely lost control of her Klingon temper. Her husband might have seen it up close and personal on several occasions, but that didn’t mean she needed to expose their captors to it.

“Let her go,” Tom made sure he spoke loud enough for the angry woman to hear.

“You will not go after her,” discomposed, Jal didn’t know what to make of these strangers.

Rubbing his cheek, Tom shook his head. “Something you’ll learn about B’Elanna, when she needs space, you’d better get out of her way.”


	5. Stardate 48309.3: Learning the Truth

“If you think I’m sharing, Flyboy,” B’Elanna left the threat open. The emotion emanating from her confrontational glare left Tom with little doubt of her intentions toward him.

When his wife stormed off, Tom remained behind, quizzing Jal about every aspect of the Ocampan life and culture. He came up with some curious inconsistencies in this seemingly perfect world. Returning to discuss these newly discovered facts with B’Elanna, she sat in the middle of the large bed with a belligerent expression. The Ocampa had taken the opportunity to replace their utilitarian hospital beds with the more luxurious surface B’Elanna sat upon. They now had a large birth taking up most of the left-hand side of the room. Tom Paris had to wonder if the Ocampa were sending a rather suggestive message. A small table and two chairs snuggled up to one corner of the room, while a couch faced the ‘virtual’ window opposite their double bed.

“I guess I’ll take the couch,” Tom shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant motion he was far from feeling. Everything about this situation just felt, well, off. “It won’t be the first time,” he quipped, moving toward the table and pulling out a chair. Indicating the one opposite, he waited patiently for B’Elanna to take his meaning and then decide to join him. _She still doesn’t like anyone making decisions for her_ , Tom’s mind groaned, realising how difficult it would make their stay on this world.

Growling once again, B’Elanna managed to jump from the bed like a sleek cat. She hated that smug look and knew he’d discovered something important. Stalking over to him, she lent in close, deliberately invading his personal space.

“Don’t think,” she challenged in a harsh but deadly tone, “I’m in any mood to breed with you, because that’s what these people want.”

“Never crossed my mind,” Tom responded, touching his cheek with a deliberately slow motion.

The look of hurt and fury mixed in her deep brown eyes. B’Elanna hated being reminded that she’d been the one to start their nocturnal activities, out of a biological need arising from her hated Klingon heritage. He’d always seemed to understand her better at such close range, when he could see the emotions that swirled in those pools of liquid chocolate. Holding her gaze, he changed the topic, unsettling her completely and forcing the woman to retreat.

“The last thing the Ocampa need,” he annunciated each word carefully, still peering into her orbs, as if he’d find all his answers there, “is to increase the population.”

Looking incredulous, B’Elanna rolled her eyes. Moving away, she pulled out the seat. “Well,” she demanded, “what did you find out?”

“You heard Jal, the Caretaker provides everything for the Ocampa. He has sent five years worth of power and the emanations from the array are increasing in speed, further adding to their surplus. It’s never happened in the five hundred generations they’ve been underground. So, why now? What’s it got to do with you and me suddenly appearing in this place? Why are we the only one’s who have been taken from our ships and ended up here? Why bring two ships to the Delta quadrant in the first place?”

“You think they targeted the _Val Jean_ and _Voyager_?” B’Elanna understood his meaning completely, a horrified expression entering her startled gaze, “just to get to us?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Tom appeared just as astonished. “I’m still trying to work it all out. But if I had to guess, I’d say yes.”

“What’s so special about you and me,” B’Elanna wondered.

Trying to hide a pleasurable smile, Tom could have spoken on that subject for hours. Clearing his throat, he became more serious. “While I walked around, I found there are some in this city who are turning away from the Caretaker’s ideas, saying he's been acting strangely for the past few months. Remember Jal saying the young people refuse to eat that muck that passes for food.”

Nodding, B’Elanna’s level of interest increased. Her attention focused on her husband. If there was one thing she knew about Tom Paris, his survival skills were finely honed and his intelligence couldn’t be questioned. The way he sometimes put things together astound her.

“Well, they’ve left the main city and established a hydroponics area,” he stated, blue eyes sparkling. “Not only do they grow the food, they prepare meals and medicines from it. Look, I don’t pretend to know what’s going on around here, but there’s no libraries, no technical workshops, no engineering bays and their medicine is, well, basic by Federation standards.” 

“If the Ocampa just wanted a pilot and an engineer,” B’Elanna nodded, her mind engaged in this problem, “they could have taken Chakotay, or Voyager’s Engineer. But a single engineer? For a place this size? You said Voyager came after us, over a week later? There would have been other ships in the area.”

“But they didn’t choose to take them half way across the galaxy. I’m not sure about the Maquis ship,” Tom sighed, placing his hands on his temples and massaging them while trying to work out this puzzle, “I know Voyager was suppose to be on a short mission. I don’t think there was another ‘mated pair’ onboard.”

“Chakotay’s taken up with Seska,” B’Elanna blurted, beginning to feel more comfortable in Tom’s company than she’d ever admit.

Snorting to hold back the laughter, Tom couldn’t help himself. “Yah, I see that going a long way. Seska’s like the male version of the image you tar me with, B’Elanna.”

“Seska’s my friend,” B’Elanna cried, incensed her husband could talk about a woman he hardly knew.

“Some friend you picked,” Tom returned, his tone completely serious. “I hadn’t been with the Maquis more than a few hours when she propositioned me. I asked around, Seska tried to start something with anyone she considered in a position of power within the Maquis.”

Crossing her arms, B’Elanna looked away. She’d never shared herself around, even under the most trying of conditions. Yet she knew several of the female Maquis didn’t hold to the same morality. A few even used the excuse that they didn’t know if they’d live to see another day, so why deny themselves a little pleasure. Although Klingon women had a voracious appetite for nocturnal activities, she’d tasted Tom’s blood and no other man’s smell excited her in the same way. The young Engineer threw herself into keeping the ancient ships of the Maquis fleet running, instead of hopping from bed to bed, secretly hoping, one day, she’d find someone to replace the first and only man she’d ever mated with.

“B’Elanna,” Tom paused, ensuring he had her complete attention. He couldn’t read the complexed thoughts running through her head and it frustrated him. Yet, he had to return the conversation to their current situation. “Whatever their thoughts on the Caretaker, the Ocampa receive or grow their food, but the heat and light comes from the artificial sun powered by the energy from the array. The water is recycled, waste broken down at the molecular level and reused. All of the processes are automated. Everyone I questioned didn’t have a clue how to do more than use the machinery.”

“You’re suggesting,” B’Elanna finally took up the challenge and looked at Tom, “were in some kind of spaceship, buried under the ground.”

“Might as well be,” Tom nodded his agreement. “This city is completely self sufficient and self maintaining. Even Voyager, one of the Federations newest ships could learn a lot from the systems the Ocampa take for granted. Here’s the kicker,” pausing, he ensured he had her complete and undivided attention, “not one of these people know how to maintain the machinery, let alone fix or improve it. Those who would speak with me said the caverns and city were prepared by the Caretaker when their world was dying and he provides for all their needs. A shield surrounds the tunnels that lead to the surface.”

“We have to find those tunnels,” B’Elanna looked excited.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Tom used a gentle tone. “I managed to get one of the Ocampa to show me. She said only one person ever attempted it, and the woman never returned. Even if we can find a way to disable the shield, it’ll take us weeks or months to dig ourselves out. Those tunnels are old and crumbling.” Finding his ire rising, Tom growled, “I wish I had a phaser and tricorder about now.”

“I could make one,” B’Elanna suggested, “or something that might do the same job, if we can locate parts.”

“Always the engineer,” Tom smiled, good memories flooding his mind. In the month she’d stayed at his Starfleet lodging in San Francisco, every electronic item had been overhauled and improved. “Without you, B’El, I’m sure the Maquis wouldn’t have had a space worthy fleet.”

“That might explain why they took me,” B’Elanna stated, ignoring the use of the diminutive her husband used during the short time they’d cohabited. Unwilling to remember, she turned her thoughts to the present. “I don’t know how far underground we are, but the energy generating system will need to be on line to keep the population fed and watered if the Caretaker stops sending those pulses.”

“I’m still working on why they’d need a pilot,” he replied unhappily. Forming some kind of bond now might just help them work together. Once they were out of this situation, Tom didn’t want to think about that, and how his heart might finally stop beating.

B’Elanna’s mind considered all the possibilities, missing her husband’s suddenly morose mood. “Five hundred generations. How long do you think the Ocampa have been here?” When Tom shrugged at her question, she shot to her feet. Pacing six steps one way, turning and retracing them, she answered, “twenty years between generations that would make…”

“Ten thousand years,” Tom stated, disbelief running rampant in his tone and expression. “Is there any known material able to withstand continuous use for that long?”

“None that I know of,” she answered, no less intrigued. “What if, as well as reducing their population each generation, the time between was half or a quarter of what we consider normal?”

“It’d account for the loss of technological knowledge, especially if the Ocampan life span is short. And,” he remembered the empty areas of the city, “it would explain the depopulation. This place could house ten million people at capacity. My guess is there’s less than ten thousand. At this rate, the Ocampa will die out in a few generations.”

“Maybe that’s why they want you,” B’Elanna folded her arms across her chest, not liking the thoughts running through her head. The Klingon half of her didn’t share easily, especially her mate.

“B’Elanna,” the tone Tom used was full of rebuke and just a little hurt. He knew where she was going with this. It’d been her Klingon jealousy that lead to his proposal in that dingy bar on some godforsaken outpost while awaiting the newest ship in the Maquis fleet to be delivered. She’d challenged his ability to commit to any woman, especially her. He didn’t have the heart to remind her, **_she’d_** be the one to walk away all those years ago. So, Thomas Paris offered his own ultimatum. She’d bitten him on the cheek, in public, for the second time. Only this time, he knew what it meant and how to act.

“A year in prison, I’m sure you’re ready to chase anything in a skirt,” she bated.

“I’m sure you’d like to believe that,” he spoke softly, sadly. If he had any hopes of forming some kind of a truce between them, it died with the expression on her features. It seemed B’Elanna would never forgive him for saving her life and walking away. Once again, he’d been the one to pay the price for doing what was right. “Go to bed, B’Elanna. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, Tom Paris walked out of their little apartment, still thinking over their conversation. In his heart, he understood the reason for B’Elanna’s tenure in the Ocampan city. What he couldn’t understand was why he’d been taken as well.

 _Hell_ , he thought, _maybe my wife has hit the preverbal nail on the head. Well if theses people think I’m going to procreate with anyone but my wife, if she ever lets me get that close again, they have another think coming. Besides, if all they need is someone, or some male to mate with their women, why choose the only married man on board both ships? Surely one of the younger Maquis or an over excited junior crewman would have served their purpose better. No, it has to have something to do with our relationship!_

A harsh laugh erupted from Tom Paris, startling the Ocampa watching the stranger. His stride lengthened, eating up the ground, trying to outpace the thought’s running rampant in his head. B’Elanna’s accusations had hit a nerve. He’d been locked up for a year, without any female companionship. There was nothing he’d like better than his wife bitting him on the cheek once again. He wouldn’t be held responsible for what came afterward, but could guess that even his half Klingon wife would be satisfied with the results.


	6. Stardate 48313.3: Caretaker

“No, no, no,” the being known as the Caretaker complained in his own language. Once again, his experiments had failed. “Well, not failed,” he considered the latest batch of possible donors thoughtfully, “at least not completely. There is promise in this. I have to try again!”

Sighing, the Caretaker glanced around the sophisticated laboratory which had been both his home and prison for the last two and a half millennia. Initially, he’d shared the duties of caring for the Ocampa with his mate, Suspiria. The Narcene's technology decimated the atmosphere of their home world when they entered this galaxy. His people built the array to house the two of them to provide for the fledgling species, and provide he had. Not only did his people construct an enormous underground city for the Ocampa, they maintained it at the cost of the sanity of those inhabiting the array.

About a thousand years ago, something occurred to upset the delicate balance in the region surrounding the Ocampa System. The Vidiian’s began to expand into the surrounding sector of space and claim it as their territory. That species had not been the first, but their level of technology proved to be the most advanced and the probability of disruption to the Ocampa’s very existence enormous. The Vidiian’s were capable of steeling the water and corrupting his races advanced technical ability for their own means.

“It could not be allowed,” The Caretaker muttered to himself, recalling the ways they had attempted to dissuade the species. It gave him a few moments pause as he started on the next round of experiments with the newly acquired and very promising genetic material. “The Vidiian's proved to be very persistent. That is why Suspiria meddled with your DNA. Just as the Nacene could not know of the effect our trans-galactic travel on the Ocampa home world, she could not know the devastation to a small percentage of the Vidiian people when she deleted only one gene loci. At least I have discovered a cure for your plague. If my experiments come to fruition, and you venture this way again, I will give you the cure.”

“Phage,” the Caretaker chuckled dementedly, “they call it a phage. What troubles you is not extraneous to your genetic code but a deletion from it. They have looked all these centuries for a cure, something outside themselves. The female I have taken from the Alpha quadrant is quite unlike any I have encountered before. Yet, her DNA bears a striking resemblance to the Vidiian’s, at least the portion Suspiria removed from your genome. By restoring a single codon, what you have lost shall be regained. Phage,” he chuckled again, “shall be your saving grace, not your doom.”

“Perhaps this Klingon, as she calls herself, shall even be the saviour of the Ocampa,” he enthused. “None of the other individuals on the same ship managed to pass my tests. None could produce what I needed and she was only half of the answer. I was forced to take a second vessel, to find her mate. With so many in that area of this galaxy, it is a miracle they found each other. It must be their unique energy signatures attracting each other. Even now my instruments sense them so far underground because they grow stronger each moment they are reunited.”

Making an irritable noise, the Caretaker wondered why they had separated. It had made his job of bringing the pair of them together much more difficult than it needed to be. They were simply not cooperating with his plans. Two days on the Ocampa home world, and they had not yet produced the embryo he needed to further his research. The Caretaker might need to do more if his hopes were to be realised, especially if his experiments did not come to fruition. It seemed removing some of their gametes and trying to fertilise them under less than natural conditions was not possible.

“My method of extracting information from the energy signatures of these creatures is not as refined as Suspiria’s,” the Caretaker sighed. He recalled how difficult it had been to ascertain the memories of the woman known as B’Elanna Torres after he had transported her vessel to the array. It had made the search for her mate’s ship nye on impossible. Then, he had to wait, keeping her in stasis with the possibility of damage increasing every moment, until he found the man he hoped to complete his research. “Suspiria would have known how to act without causing them to become ill. I do not now why they did not suffer, as others have done before them, when stripped of their gametes”

The Caretaker knew his mate had grown board with this very uninteresting assignment shortly after taking up her post. Yet, Suspiria remained with him until two centuries ago. She had taken some of the Ocampa and left to explore this region of space, in the hope of finding a new home for the Ocampa, thus ending their responsibility. He’d been left behind to fulfil the promise alone. At first the isolation had not bothered him. As year followed lonely year, as the threat of his own extinction neared, he began to fear. That fear turned to despair and a single-minded determination to complete is life’s work. A human psychologist would instantly diagnose his condition. The Caretaker had become depressed and mentally unstable. He saw the Ocampa as children but would not give them the opportunity to grow and develop to their full potential. Had he been in his right mind, the Caretaker would have seen his actions as Munchausen syndrome by proxy. He was now the cause of the Ocampa’s imminent demise and he had dragged two vessels half way across the galaxy to correct his mistake. A mistake he was once again making with the use of faulty logic.

“Yes,” the Caretaker shouted sometime later. Finally, he had the result he’d been looking for. The blastocyst, now at the sixteen cell stage, was large enough to emit an energy signature unique to its biological matrix. “You are the one I have been looking for. I shall now overlay my own sporocystian energy upon your bimolecular pattern. Let us hope it is enough.”


	7. Stardate 48309.4: Truce

Left alone to think, B’Elanna felt her Klingon fury rising. Once again, her husband walked out on her. He’d chosen Starfleet over her the first time. He forced her into a cargo pod the second, ejecting her into space and likely a slow death. Picking up the nearest object, she threw it at the opposite wall. It didn’t give the pleasing thud she was after.

 _You’re hardly being fair,_ her Human subconscious rebuked.

Which killed the anger stone dead and brought her to thoughts of Seska. The woman played the part of Bajoran comfort woman a little to well, especially being a product of the Cardassian work camps. The information from her Cardassian lovers saved the lives and property of the Maquis time and again. Yet, somehow, they always seemed to outmanoeuvre a Cardassian situation, only to run into the Federation. Strange how B’Elanna, or any of the Maquis never put those facts together until she and Tom talked, snorting, Torres corrected **_argued_** , about it.

 _Maybe_ , the sudden thought made her sick to both her stomachs, _that’s why she took up with Chakotay, to avoid suspicion. And why she always hated Tom. Somehow, he saw through her, and if I believe him… Who am I kidding, if theirs one thing I know about Tom Paris, its his honesty._

If it hadn’t been for the fast, innovative thinking of **_her_** husband on his first mission with the Maquis, they would have lost the thirty liberated prisoners from a Cardassian mine, as well as the crew of their newest ship. Tom’s actions spoke for themselves even when the rest of the Maquis didn’t want to listen. He’d been the one to comprehend how they could make the rescue, using his flying skills, some very inventive manoeuvres and the power of their latest ship. He was selfless in the defence of those he considered unjustly treated and it seemed to get him into nothing but trouble.

“Dam my over sensitive conscious,” he’d once complained, not realising she’d entered their quarters on Liberty. 

_Isn’t that how **you** started, _B’Elanna’s subconscious interrupted annoyingly. _Didn’t Tom come along at the very moment you felt most lost and alone in this universe and offer his warmth and protection without hope of reward. It didn’t matter how his father reacted when the Admiral discovered his golden boy was living with a Klingon Hybrid in Starfleet accomodation not ten miles from the family home. Like everyone, even Tom’s father refused to pull off his armour-plated skin, to see the person inside. My husband hides that part of himself under layers of humour and arrogance, sometimes, even from me._

_Starfleet had rejected you, as much as you rejected the discipline, yet he picked up the broken pieces and helped you put them back together, making you stronger in the process. The situation got to him because, I can’t believe I haven’t realised it before, he’d been through the same thing with his father and that man’s impossible expectations. Tom just wanted me to smile, enjoy life and have fun. We did because he made it possible. What would have happened to you if Tom hadn’t been there? Or if he’d given into his father’s demands to dump his latest lover?_

Refusing to think about the man further, or how he made her feel, B’Elanna considered their current situation. If they wanted to get off this rock and back to their ships, they needed to work together. She’d have to forgive herself for leaving him and Tom for what happened a year ago if that were to happen. With a heavy sigh, B’Elanna looked around the small room. It seemed empty without Tom’s presence.

 _Strange_ , she thought, _how easily he’s slipped back into my life in such a short time, just as we did the last time. And the time before that!_

The Ocampa hadn’t left a change of clothes for sleeping, so B’Elanna searched out a bathroom. Nothing there resembling night wear, she wondered if this was yet another subtle suggestion to force the couple to mate. The emotions swirling in her brain would best be left alone tonight. Quickly deciding a shower could wait until the morning, she brushed her teeth and took off her boots, ready to welcome the blissful state of unconsciousness.

B’Elanna’s mind wouldn’t turn off as Tom’s words continued to play in her subconscious. Her husband still hadn’t returned and B’Elanna realised she felt lonely, an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time. She’d had her work for comfort on the long nights with the Maquis, her mind filled with what needed doing the next day. Tonight, all she could think about was Tom, where he’d gotten to and if he was feeling as lost and alone. When any thoughts of him with another woman entered her mind, she cut them off viciously.

When B’Elanna did sleep, her rest was interrupted with vivid dreams. The past replayed, over and over again. Each time she made the same mistakes. She woke, determined to seek out her wayward husband. Between Tom’s dogged determination and her ingenuity, they’d find a way out of this place. Before she climbed out of bed, B’Elanna noticed Tom asleep on the couch in a most uncomfortable position. Taking in a slow, steadying breath while closing her eyes, B’Elanna worked out what she’d say to him. In the past, after a fight, her husband started the night on the couch, but somehow always made it into her bed before the sun rose.

“Morning,” the quiet, sleepy tone beat her to the punch line.

“Morning,” she returned softly, her eyes going everywhere but the couch.

“I,” embarrassed, Tom didn’t quite know how to ask. Sitting up, he tried to get the kinks out of his spine. “I did some thinking while I was walking around last night.”

“Me too,” B’Elanna almost whispered.

“Your right, you know,” Tom let out a long breath, “a year in prison, and suddenly my wife is trapped in the same place.” It didn’t matter how he brought up this subject, her reaction would be immediate and negative. “You’re acting, well, premenstrual, B’Elanna. Before you say or throw anything, just listen, please. If this Caretaker took a married couple for a reason, why wouldn’t he play with our hormones?”

“Like yours needed any playing with,” B’Elanna couldn’t help the snarky comment as she folded her arms across her body in an age-old gesture of protection. Yet, it proved Tom’s point and explained her feelings of loneliness last night.

“Mine,” he stated sadly, “haven’t been altered in the last year. It’s not like they allow conjugal relations in a Federation Penal Settlement.”

“You didn’t get your shot,” B’Elanna understood completely. The one thing her husband had been completely ridged about in their intimacy, he’d be the one to ensure an unwanted pregnancy did not occur. They’d been too new six years ago. Tom didn’t want accidents while they were in the Maquis. It wasn’t the place to bring up a child, wanted or not.

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” Tom managed to get up without grimacing. The sofa might look serviceable, but it couldn’t be called comfortable. “After you’re ready, we’ll see if we can get some breakfast. Then, we can discuss how to get out of here.”

Nodding, B’Elanna’s eyes watched as he disappeared into the tiny room attached to their apartment. When he emerged, she offered, “truce.”

“That would mean we’re at war. B’Elanna,” he answered with a disarming smile. The shower, with real water, had eased the dull ache left over from sleeping on the concrete couch. Better able to control his desires, Tom kept at least half the distance of the room between them.

Shaking her head, she approached apprehensively and placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t talk,” she begged. The emotions rolling around in her chocolate eyes bespoke her confusion. It proved B’Elanna had thought about his earlier words and come to the same conclusion.

Agreement came in the form of pulling the woman into his arms. Tom didn’t think it would occur, ever, but it seemed B’Elanna still had a few surprises left in her. How long they stayed like that, neither knew. They sprung apart when the apartment door opened.

“Don’t you people knock,” B’Elanna barked, hands going to her hips.

“I’ve brought you new clothing,” Jal explained, handing over the pile of cloth. Without another word, he retreated, completely confused. He’d been informed the man, Tom, spent the best part of the night wandering around the city and asking many questions. The Ocampa complied with his wishes, to leave his mate alone. Yet, here they were, in each other’s arms.

“Perhaps it is better,” his mate spoke telepathically, “to leave them be. I am sure the Caretaker’s reasons for their presence here will soon be revealed.”

Much to Tom and B’Elanna’s surprise, that was exactly what occurred over the next two days. No one interrupted the pair as they examined the old tunnels and tried to come up with a plan to escape. Or when they followed the power conduits and the walkways surrounding the energy system to their underground entry point.

“How far underground do you think we are?” Tom asked. They were both covered in fine yellow dust. Most had been gained attempting to excavate one of the collapsed tunnels used to populate the city, only to discover that escape route impossibly blocked. However, it had led to a side passage and the power conduits. The walkways beside the system sloped upwards, bringing the couple closer to the surface.

“If we had a tricorder,” B’Elanna sounded exhausted. They’d been at this for hours and travelled at least 10 kilometres on uneven and badly lit ground. “I could give you the exact measurements. But,” she looked at the fatigued man beside her, remembering how little sleep he’d managed last night, “if I had to guess, about a kilometre.”

“That’s what I thought,” Tom agreed, eyeing the ladder at the end of the passage judiciously. “The last part of the system is vertical. If it’s been in operation two thousand years of more, how well do you think this ladder is going to hold up?”

“Only one way to find out,” B’Elanna said. By the time she’d finished the sentence, the woman was already five rungs up.

Shaking his head, Tom expected nothing less. “B’Elanna,” he wearily called, stopping her dead. “Let’s go and get cleaned up, find something to eat and get a good night’s sleep, before we attempt this.”

“You think the power collectors are on the surface,” B’Elanna carefully climbed down, “and it might offer a chance of escape?”

“Question is,” Tom’s eyes looked confused, “what’s up there? Jal said there was a warming, then a chasm opened up in the ground and the Ocampa flooded into the city as their planet turned to desert.”

“He also mentioned journals,” B’Elanna reminded, “but you didn’t find a library.”

“If we’re going to attempt this, we need to be prepared, very well prepared,” Tom stated, turning to face his wife. “We’re going to have to survive until we’re rescued.”

“Alright,” B’Elanna understood only too well. “Tomorrow let’s see if I can find the components and come up with something resembling a tricorder, or a distress signal at the very least. If I can find the parts, maybe we can focus a phaser beam strong enough to cut thought the rocks.”

“We’re going to need something like that,” Tom realised. “After our climb up those rungs, I’m sure the last few meters will be some kind of sealant safeguarded by the force field. The Caretaker wouldn’t have neglected protecting the power system. We’ll have to disable the shield.”

Returning to their apartment, brought up another uncomfortable question for B’Elanna. If they were to make their escape in the next few days, Tom would need to be rested. They both would.

“I won’t bite,” she managed to tease, patting the comfortable surface beside her.

“I was kind of hopping you might,” Tom answered with a hopeful smile.

Swallowing, hard, B’Elanna didn’t know if her Klingon anger or Human compassion would win.

“It’s safer if I take the couch, B’El,” Tom answered gently.

“Why,” the word came out harsh, yet the expression on her face suggested hurt.

“When this is over,” he found one set of fingers strangling the other. Immediately, Tom took up his at ease position, although nothing about him was easy. “The Federation will want me back in prison and you’ll go back to being the only one able to keep those ancient engines of the Maquis fleet running. Honestly, I don’t know what will happen this time. It almost killed me to leave you a year ago.”

“Why were you on Voyager, Tom,” B’Elanna asked softly. She had an idea, but needed to hear the words from his lips.

Sighing, he took a seat at the little table, hoping his wife would join him. When she did, the story came out slowly at first. He couldn’t look at her, at the woman he loved as he confessed his part in agreeing to find Chakotay and his cell.

“You sold us out,” B’Elanna leapt from her seat, shouting. “For what? Chakotay was right about you all this time. I promised him you’d changed, that your actions on Liberty were for the good of us all, that you did what you did to save the lives of everyone on board.”

“I did,” Tom’s tone, low and sorrowful should have convinced her. Looking up he only saw her anger and betrayal. “You know what, I’d do it all over again, B’Elanna, if it meant keeping you safe.”

In one of her sudden changes of mood, hope sprung eternal. “Then you’ll come back with me, to the _Val Jean_.”

Snorting Tom finally managed to watch the pacing woman’s expressions carefully. “Chakotay and the rest of the crew wouldn’t accept me. I’d be that guy, the one there because the person they needed the most wanted me to be. How long before you realised I’m just a mill stone around your neck? I give it a week, month at best.”

“You want to go back to _Voyager_ ,” she shouted.

“I don’t have a choice,” Tom returned in a quiet deadly tone.

“What was your price,” B’Elanna demanded, infuriated, “this time. Chakotay told me how much he had to pay off you bar, and other bills when you joined the Maquis.”

“That’s rich,” Tom remembered the meeting. Chakotay had approached him. Tom never wanted to take up the fight; he’d been very explicit on that point throughout the negotiations. He only wanted the freedom to fly. It had been the mention of their half Klingon Engineer, and careful questioning that finally made up Paris’s mind. “I only agreed to join the Maquis…” he managed to stop himself but not in time for his meaning to hit B’Elanna.

“You never asked Chakotay to pay off your debits,” she asked, astonished, “did you?”

“Believe me, I had plenty, and through no one’s fault but my own” Tom managed, his throat closing over as the emotions of that time in his life revisited. “I just wanted a fresh start and I didn’t want to be known as Admiral Paris’s son.”

B’Elanna looked on the man with shock. When Chakotay introduced him to their cell, it had been as our new pilot, Tom. The distinction hadn’t matted, her own feelings at seeing him again too raw, she’d never attempted to use his surname because she didn’t want to get that close to him again. The one time she did, Tom gave her some throw away line about the past being in the past. It seemed B’Elanna didn’t realise just how serious her husband had been.

“Why does the Federation want Chakotay?” B’Elanna finally asked, her eye’s watching every expression that subtly crossed her husbands face. He’d close off, even to her.

“Voyager’s Security Officer managed to infiltrate Chakotay’s cell,” Tom bit out. “They offered to help me get my sentence reduced, if I could help locate him.”

“That’s all?” she demanded. Somehow, B’Elanna always knew when her husband held something back. “No, that’s not it at all. Don’t start lying to me now Tom.”

“I asked to have a young Maquis woman exonerated, if ever she was caught,” he snarled.

“Me,” this seemed to make B’Elanna’s heart beat at twice its usual rate. “Why?”

“Because being my wife actually means something to me,” Tom responded, his shoulders slumped and eyes strangely puffy. Once again he rose and attempted to leave their quarters.


	8. Stardate 48312: Finding the Cracks

Before Tom could leave the room, B’Elanna grabbed his arm, swinging him around to face her. What she saw killed her anger and frustration. Those crystal blue eyes were glassy. She’d seen him almost cry twice and knew how much emotional stress it took to bring about the effect. The first time had been recounting his fall from grace after Caldik Prime. The second, he shoved her into a cargo pod, before wishing her a safe journey.

 _And telling you, he’d always love you,_ she recalled.

Sighing, B’Elanna couldn’t help herself, even knowing this is what the Caretaker wanted, for some unknown reason. “I thought we weren’t at war,” she offered humbly, but refused to lessen her grip. “I won’t let you walk out on me again, Thomas Paris. We face this together, or not at all.”

It took time, but eventually Tom managed to get himself under regulation. Nodding, a glance at her hand and B’Elanna removed it. Without a word, she headed for the bathroom, understanding he wouldn’t leave. By the time she exited, Tom had taken the couch, pretending to be asleep.

Rolling her eyes, B’Elanna knew the moment his breathing started to slow and even out. Her hearing slightly better than the average Human, it calmed her. They had a lot to get through tomorrow, if they wanted to be ready to make an escape attempt the day after.

 _Somehow_ , she promised, _I’ll get through this without losing my temper and arguing with Tom again. I thought he couldn’t get any more damaged after joining the Maquis. I beginning to think I’ve been wrong, about a lot of things._

They wondered around the massive underground city, exploring any crevasse that might offer some hope of escape or a room that might contain components to make a tricorder on their second full day. The populous, as Jal indicated, seemed to accept them as honoured guests. No question went unanswered, no requested ignored, even if the Ocampa couldn’t help the couple. It demonstrated how little these people knew of their city and how much lay empty, but very well maintained.

“Well,” Tom lent over B’Elanna’s shoulder as they huddled together in a darkened space under the Central Medical Clinic.

They’d agreed to separate on this, their third day in captivity and look for anything that might aid their escape. B’Elanna uncovered a well-hidden maintenance work station in an alcove this morning. Tom didn’t want to leave her with the parts they’d scavenged the day before, but understood he needed to continue to look for supplies that would help once they reached the surface.

Pulling him into the tiny room, B’Elanna used to construct the device, the console was littered with electronic parts in various states of separation. Holding up a rough looking device in the low light, her smile said it all. With a flick of her finger, several noises erupted and the screen lit up.

“Will it work?” He dared to ask. “It looks like something from a museum.”

Snorting, she stated sarcastically, “do you seriously need to ask? I guess you don’t remember that machine you called a kettle.”

“I remember,” Tom managed a smile, still looking at the square box made of some light material. “That wasn’t the only electronic device you tinkered with in my Starfleet digs.”

“I was board,” she parried, not really wanting to remember a more innocent and happy time together. This light banter was better than arguing, or the strained cautiousness of the last few days, and it seemed to lift Tom’s spirits.

“I know,” he quipped, “so did my apartment. I never told you,” swallowing convulsively, he decided to try something a little more personal, “I enquired about married quarters, before shipping out to Caldik Prime.”

“So now you blaming me,” B’Elanna immediately took offence.

“NO!” Tom hissed, shaking his head with disappointment. It seemed he couldn’t talk about the past without upsetting B’Elanna. He felt rejected on so many levels. “I hoped you’d change you mind. When you didn’t…”

“I can imagine,” B’Elanna ground out. She knew about his many and varied nocturnal activities after taking up his Lieutenants pips. Tom didn’t need to tell her because Seska had. B’Elanna hadn’t questioned where the information came from at time. She did now, finally seeing her so called friend in a new light. Much to Tom’s credit, he’d confessed his relationship with Rikki and his disgrace during that assignment at the first opportunity. His last lover been low on the list of people who’d crushed her husband’s spirit as Tom spiralled deeper into self-destruction. The Maquis and being with her, had been both a blessing and lead to his complete disgrace.

 _You_ , once again that human conscious inserted, _were his saviour. Give the guy a break. Once you’re back in the Alpha quadrant, he has another four years behind bars. If you think he was broken a year ago, how much worse will it be after this?_

“What are you thinking?” Tom asked, unable, even this close, to understand what crossed B’Elanna’s mind. Her eyes displayed so many emotions, he couldn’t choose one before it was gone.

“We can’t change the past,” she whispered, her voice anguished.

“Let’s concentrate on making a brighter future,” he suggested, his lighthearted and carefree persona firmly in place.

“Don’t, Flyboy. Don’t make light of this,” the anger was back. “You might hide who you really are from everyone else. I’m your wife, and that means something to me too, even if I don’t always show it.”

Their battle this time wasn’t with words. The glares they levelled at each other could have scorched. Finally, it was Tom who looked away, embarrassed that his own words had come back to hunt him.

 _Why_ , he wondered, _can nothing ever come easily between B’El and I._

Taking the primitive device from his hands, B’Elanna made sure she brushed his fingers lightly. She needed to reconnect with Tom as much as he needed reassurance. His bright blue eye’s returned to her warm chocolate ones, and the truce started over.

“Will it always be like this, between us?” Tom asked quietly.

“You chose a half Klingon wife,” she shrugged easily. “What do you think?”

“I think we need to concentrate on getting out of here. Are you able to scan the Shield?” Tom questioned carefully.

In an instant, they turned from personal to professional. Tom watched as B’Elanna adjusted some rotary controls on the box in her hand. The Federation hadn’t used such archaic technology for more than a century. The Maquis need to jury-rig almost everything just to survive. Impatiently, he waited for B’Elanna to scan the entire area.

“There are oscillating micro fractures,” B’Elanna said, her mind completely engaged in their current situation, “but not large enough for a human to get through. The area around the power conduits is reinforced and completely inaccessible, especially anywhere close to the surface. If we had a transporter, I could get the signal out.”

“What about a sub space message to the _Val Jean_ or _Voyager_ ,” Tom asked.

“Not enough strength,” B’Elanna supplied. “Besides, I don’t know their current location and this is a very limited voltage system, meaning signal attenuation is horrendous. I’m trying to track the pulses back to the array but the energy signature has changed. The emanations are still getting closer together, delivering power to the grid but there’s a new element incorporated in the pulse. This device is just too primitive for any detailed analysis. If I had to guess, I think the Caretaker is downloading information. I can’t get a lock on where the transmission is being delivered or how to decode it.”

“The location of the Caretaker might give us something to go on,” Tom offered hopefully. At least they’d know how far they’d been transported if they could locate the array. If the _Val Jean_ was as battered as _Voyager_ , it could take some time to fix the critical systems and get the warp core back on line. They might have a few more days to come up with something, while the vessels made emergency repairs.

“If we can find enough power to boost the transmitter signal,” B’Elanna’s concentration was focused on the device in her hand, “or a half decent array and I have some idea of the direction, we might be able to let them know we’re still alive. Failing that, I can send out an old-fashioned SOS on radio frequencies.”

“Chakotay won’t stop looking for you, B’Elanna,” Tom acknowledged the the almost overwhelming odds they were facing. “Your skills are important to the Maquis and,” scratching his head, Tom added in a low tone, “he’s your friend. I don’t know Captain Janeway very well, but she strikes me as a woman who won’t leave anyone behind.”

“Let’s hope your right, Flyboy,” B’Elanna sighed. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here.”

“Here,” Tom asked, his tone light but the look in his eyes completely serious, “or with me.”

“Oh, you I can handle,” B’Elanna felt proud of her comeback, “it’s never feeling the sun again that bother’s me.”

“This,” Tom snorted, “from a woman who spends all her time in an engine room. I though you would have missed the challenge of keeping thirty or forty-year old engines running smoothly.”

“If we stay here, I’ll need to come up with a whole new energy producing system in five years using advanced technology I don’t understand. And it’s only a couple of thousand years old. Come on, Flyboy,” she managed to keep up the banter and ignore the undertone, “we have work to do, if we want to be ready to blow this place.”

“Taking about blowing the place,” he really didn’t mean for his mind to go in that direction. Clearing his throat, Tom added, “any chance you’ve found enough parts to make a phaser or rock cutter?”

“Start looking for a focusing crystal,” B’Elanna smiled, in her element as she pointed to a half-constructed device that in no way resembled a modern phaser.

“You’re on,” he chuckled, remembering how well they could work together, when they weren’t bickering. “Last one back to the apartment gets the couch tonight. I’m done waking up with a sore back.”

It took another two days to assemble the remainder of their kit. Each had a backpack fashioned out of dirty clothing. Where Tom had found the bottle to carry water, B’Elanna couldn’t even guess and he wasn’t telling. It had to be bad, if the look on his face was any indication.

“I managed to talk those ‘New Age Ocampan’s’ out of some fresh food supplies,” he displayed the colourful objects. “Try this, what ever it is. You’ll like it.”

B’Elanna paused in her efforts to pack every last item into her bag. Catching the triangular fruit, she sniffed. Shrugging her shoulders, she took a bite while her husband watched. It tasted like a slightly bitter apple.

“I knew you’d like it,” Tom grinned, attempting to hide his longing in reaction to the simple action. It took an enormous effort not to touch that spot on his cheek and remember. “Well I’m done. Time to turn in. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”


	9. Stardate 48314.4: Complications

"I have encountered no humanoid lifeforms in our exploration of the array, Captain," Tuvok stated, a tricorder still humming in his hand. Along with one of the Maquis crew members, he joined the remainder of the away team. The Vulcan's eyes constantly scanned either their surroundings or his devices readout to ensure the parties safety. "Mr. Paris and Miss Torres are not within scanning range. Therefore, I believe it is logical to conclude they may not be on the array. Also, the pulses directed at the fifth planet of a nearby star system are continuing to increase in frequency."

The same early 20th century holographic program continued to play from their last visit to the array. A white washed farmhouse took centre stage. So far Janeway and Chakotay hadn't come across any of the previous inhabitants. Walking around the building they uncovered an elderly gentleman sitting on a wooden bench, starring into the vista beyond.

"He can tell us where they are," Chakotay stated, marching over to the loan individual. He appeared to be the only character remaining from their last sojourn.

Captain Janeway became cautions. Turning to her team, both Starfleet and Maquis, she ordered, "he seems as good a place to start as any. Maintain your comm links. I don't want to lose anyone else."

Appearing somewhat content, the gentleman finally finished his introspection and looked up. "Oh, why have you come back?" He asked, a little aggravated but completely unconcerned. Only half of his attention was focused on this group. His true form was still in the laboratory, eagerly awaiting the results of his latest tests.

The Caretaker had separated the sporocystian infused blastocyst into individual cells. So far only four had survived the procedure. Currently they were undergoing rapid division. However, he felt at least half would not survive the current treatment. He only required one, and it would soon be ready for an incubation chamber. Another time cycle and his search might be complete. Of course, if two survived, it would mean his offspring would have each other for company.

"I want our people back," Janeway declared, drawing the elderly man's attention back to the present, "and I want us all to be sent home."

"Oh, well now," the old man smiled easily, examining the group before him as if specimens under a microscope, "aren't you contentious for a minor bipedal species?"

"This minor bipedal species doesn't take kindly to being abducted," Janeway returned with more than a little heat in her tone.

"Oh," the Caretaker returned his attention to his surroundings, "it was necessary."

"Where is B'Elanna?" Chakotay enquired softly. Holding in his fury, the Maquis Captain sat on the opposite wooden bench. The though of the man she might be trapped with sent arrows of regret directly to his heart. He'd always seen the half Klingon misfit as a younger and very innocent sister, and protected her accordingly.

"Tuvok, is that what you call the calm one," the Caretaker pointed to the Vulcan, "has logically concluded they are no longer here. I believe I concur with his logic."

"What," Janeway allowed her eyebrows to rise in irritation, "have you done with Paris and Torres?"

"So that is the names you use for them?" A banjo suddenly appeared in the Caretaker's arms. He strummed a discordant note from the instrument before turning his dark eyes on Janeway. "You don't have what I need. They might. No, you'll have to leave them. The individuals I have come to know as B'Elanna and Tom are safe. The Ocampa are taking good care of them."

"We can't leave B'Elanna and Paris in your care," Chakotay stated, an edge in his voice as he thought of the two together again. Conformation that the man with B'Elanna was the one that betrayed them, and her in particular, caused an irrational moment of anger. As B'Elanna's friend, he would stop at nothing to get his engineer back and away from the man who broke her heart.

Agreeing with the Maquis officer, Janeway added, "we are their commanding officers. We are entrusted with their safety. They are our responsibility. That may be a concept you don't understand."

A neurotic chuckle escaped the Caretaker. "Oh, I do understand, more than you could ever comprehend. But I have no choice. There's just not enough time left."

"Captain," Tuvok suddenly broke into the conversation, "I am receiving a spurious reading. It appears there are now traces of DNA from our crew members on board the array. I do not understand why I was unable to detect it before, unless…"

"What it is, Tuvok," Janeway looked anxious.

"Permission to…" the security officer never got to reply. His form suddenly dematerialised.

"Janeway to Voyager," the Captain hit her com badge. "Is Mr. Tuvok aboard?"

"I have been returned to the ship, Captain," came Tuvok's unemotional voice. "I believe I know why, however you and Mr. Chakotay will be trapped on the array if I were to inform you. There is a high probability the entity will cease all communications…"

"I must honour a debt that can never be repaid," the Caretaker looked up at Janeway with a pious expression, breaking her link with Tuvok, "but my search has not been going well."

"Tell us what you're looking for," she softened her voice as she sat on the bench seat beside the elderly gentleman. "Maybe we can help you find it."

"You?" He gave an almost hysterical laugh. "I've searched the galaxy with methods beyond your comprehension. No, there's nothing you can do. Or perhaps," he looked at the two remaining individuals, "I can help you go home."

Understanding completely, Janeway and Chakotay glanced at each other. "We are not leaving our people here," Kathryn stated harshly. "We all go home together."

"Have it your way," the Caretaker waved his arm. The remainder of the party disappeared in a beam of light, only to find themselves on the bridge of Voyager.

Infuriated by the entity, Captain Janeway didn't flinch so much as a muscle at the change in her surroundings. Looking around her domain, Mr. Tuvok had the crew working to maximum efficiency, even with several stations unmanned. The senior officer raised a Vulcan eyebrow, stating he was working on a theory. Proud of the way her very junior personnel preformed under the current challenges, she turned to the Maquis Captain standing beside her.

"Mr. Chakotay, I would like to speak with you in my ready room," Janeway ordered, giving Tuvok a nod. Her security chief understood the command, as did the ex-Starfleet officer. "Mr. Rollins, you have the bridge."

"Aye, Captain," the young Ensign offered.

When they were seated, Kathryn offered Chakotay a drink. He refused politely, vigilantly observing his surroundings. While waiting for Tuvok to complete his calculations, she sipped her coffee and took the man's measure.

"Thank you for humouring me, Mr. Chakotay," Janeway stalled.

The Maquis captain nodded, waiting patiently. Well aware of Starfleet protocol, and Tuvok's personality, he chose to remain silent. It didn't seem to bother Janeway, as the protagonists used the time to observe their opponent turned temporary conspirator.

"Captain, I believe we have a problem," the security officer stated the moment he walked in the room and the doors closed behind him. A nod from his superior and Tuvok knew he could speak freely. "The traces of Mr. Paris and Miss Torres's DNA uncovered on the array were replicating at a rapid rate."

"He was cloning them," Chakotay asked, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"I believe procreating would be a better description," Tuvok answered, including the Maquis officer in his briefing. "I have analysed the results and can only conclude that the Caretaker has used gametes from Mr. Paris and Miss Torres to create a new individual. Only when the mass of organic material became sufficient did the tricorder signal the possibility of another life form on the array. I have recalculated all the variables and conclude there is a 97% chance that at least one embryo has been created. Any less than a hundred cell organism would not be adequate for detection by our current technology."

Shocked, Janeway looked to Chakotay. "Thank you Mr. Tuvok. Please return to your station."

"Captain," he hesitated only a moment, "there is more."

"What," unable to contain his anger, Chakotay shot to his feet, "more could there be. You just told us this entity had removed genetic material from my engineer and Paris to create their child. Why would he do that?"

"I believe the entity is attempting to procreate by overlaying his own life energy on the human embryo," Tuvok dropped his bombshell, "thereby creating a hybrid physical/energy being. His progeny, if you will. For some reason unknown only to the entity, it seems the unique combination of Mr. Paris and Miss Torres genetics are required to complete the process successfully."

"Why?" Kathryn asked, astonished. "I am sure you have come up with a theory, Mr. Tuvok."

"As to the identity of the physical individuals, I have not. However, the increasing rate of energy pulses from the array, the comments concerning a debit of honour and not enough time have led me to the conclusion that the Caretaker is dying. He is attempting to produce an offspring capable of continuing this debit of honour for at least another generation, possibly longer with a corporal form as his child will have the ability to breed. In such a situation, it would seem logical that Mr. Paris and Miss Torres are being kept on the planet receiving the energy pulses against their will should these attempts fail," Tuvok concluded.

"I agree," Janeway responded. "Set a course for that planet."

"Aye, Captain," Tuvok still did not move. When his superior officer raised an eyebrow, reminiscent of a Vulcan, he continued. "The energy signature of the emissions has changed. We are unable to decode the data stream that accompanies the energy pulses. I must concluded that time is of the essence and the entity is downloading the array's databanks to the Ocampa home world."

After Tuvok left the room, Janeway sighed and slumped into her seat. Watching the Maquis Captain, she asked, "something on your mind, Mr. Chakotay?"

"Why did you bring Admiral Paris's son with you on this voyage?" He demanded. "Even out in the demilitarised zone, we knew of his trial and sentence."

"I was under orders," she smiled disarmingly, now the conversation turned to the topic Janeway wanted to discuss. "I know you understand Starfleet protocol, Mr. Chakotay, or should that be ex-Lt. Commander?"

"Did the Federation really hope Paris would be able to find us after being with the Maquis for such a short time?" He snarled, still pacing the ready room. "Well, I never trusted him from the start. Only B'Elanna's feelings…"

"It seems you engineer means a great deal to Thomas Paris, and you," Janeway commented, pausing to let her meaning gather weight, "on more than a professional level."

"B'Elanna's my second in command," Chakotay answered, his tone had become deadly quiet, "and my friend. I don't want to see her hurt by that, that man again."

"I know about their relationship," Janeway sighed, heavily this time. Folding her fingers, she rested the bridge of her nose on them for a moment.

The truth, she knew more than she'd ever wanted to know. Thomas Paris had been forced to give his wife's name before she could take Tom's unusual request to Starfleet for consideration. The meeting with Admiral Paris had not gone well after Tom's demand had been granted. Janeway learnt the Admiral knew of his son's involvement with B'Elanna Torres prior to his promotion and transfer to Caldik Prime. He'd also filled Janeway in with respect to Torres history at the academy. As many of the Maquis were either Starfleet dropouts or graduates, it shouldn't have been surprising. What caused the Captain some thought was Tom's enquiry about the possibility of being assigned married quarters on Caldik Prime and a position for his civilian partner.

"Related to Starfleet brass," Chakotay watched the emotions cross the captain's face with fascination. If he opened up enough, he hoped to get more information out of the woman. "He had to know he was suspect from the moment he joined the Maquis. We though he was a spy and the incident on Caldik Prime a ruse, to gain sympathy and acceptance."

"Tom was never a plant," Janeway offered with a slight frown. "I served with his father for many years. It seemed the Admirals expectations for his son were unobtainable. If I understand correctly, Tom never really wanted to be in Starfleet." Pausing, her eyes locked on those of her foe, "nor did B'Elanna Torres. That's when the relationship started." Quirking an eyebrow she added, "you didn't know it went that far back?"

"The reason we agreed to take Tom on," Chakotay ground out, "was B'Elanna total willingness to vouch for him."

"And you trusted her," Janeway asked.

"With my life," Chakotay answered without hesitation.

"When I pulled Tom out of prison and asked him to come on this mission," Janeway observed her opposition's reactions carefully, "initially I believed everything I'd been told or read about him. Mr. Paris warned me that he didn't know enough to help on our mission and reinforced my belief in his character." Once again pausing to let her words sink in, she asked, "do you have any idea what he asked for?"

"Latunim, a reduced sentence," Chakotay guessed. He knew his was wrong the moment the word left his mouth.

"The Federation was prepared to grant the latter. But, no," she paused to give her words extra meaning in this complex situation, "he requested a full pardon for a young Maquis woman, if she were ever taken into Federation custody."

Chakotay simply glared at her. It seemed he'd misjudged Paris's feelings toward B'Elanna, which brought his actions on the Liberty into new light. Torres had tried to tell him, to tell them all, that he wasn't the man they accused him of being. Only Chakotay hadn't listened and because of his prejudice, his crew had not completely trusted Paris either. He'd put B'Elanna in a very difficult position.

"What the hell are we going to do," Kathryn allowed her words to settle before speaking again, "when we get them back on board? My crew wont accepted a Maquis and I think Tom's burnt his bridged on both sides. Not to mention getting their combined genetic material off that array. There is no way I'm leaving their child to the mercies of that entity."

"Paris has always been a trouble magnet," Chakotay closed his eyes, desperately trying to work his way through the many layers of issues.

"True," Janeway agreed sadly, "but have you noticed that's he is always the one to pay the price for his mistakes, without involving anyone else."

Astonished, Chakotay had never made the link. _Probably_ , he thought, _because of his arrogant, self serving attitude and over confidence. I never could see what B'Elanna loved about him, or accept that their was more to the cocky SOB._

"Before you leave, Mr. Chakotay," she offered in an ironic tone, "if the entity can't or won't return us the alpha quadrant, what are we going to do? I can hardly lock your crew up in the brig for the next seventy five years."

"Two craft," Chakotay knew were her Starfleet mind was going on this one, "stand a better chance of survival than one alone in an uncharted quadrant of the galaxy."

"I see we understand one another completely, Mr. Chakotay," Kathryn smiled.

"Am I dismissed, Captain," Chakotay enquired sarcastically, his own mind awhirl with thoughts he didn't want to consider.

"Yes," she stated, turning her attention the console before her.

Holding his position at the entrance to her ready room exit, Chakotay shook his head. There were in this together, whether or not they wanted to be. Torres and Paris's disappearance had just complicated matters several levels of magnitude.

"What a mess," he muttered, before transporting back to his own vessel.


	10. Stardate 48314.7: Considerations

_Val Jean_ flew majestically in the shadow of _Voyager._ The vessels travelling together made a magnificence sight, the smaller craft seemingly protected by her big brother. At the helm of the Maquis ship, Chakotay allowed his hands to move over the conn automatically. The positions to his left and right remained empty, as Tuvok re-joined Voyager and B'Elanna remained missing in action. As much as he didn't want too, he'd give anything for Paris to be at the conn so he could think. Tom Paris might be a cocky SOB, but he was also an amazing pilot, especially with B'Elanna making the engines resonate to his unique frequency. The recent conference with Captain Janeway, still so fresh in his mind, brought up his immediate problems. As much as Chakotay needed to concentrate, his thoughts tended their current and combined situation.

A thirty nine year old ship, half the systems off line before encountering the temporal wave thanks to the Cardassian's, not to mentions undermanned, it was a big ask to keep the old girl flying, even in the Alpha quadrant where parts could be brought or bartered relatively easily. After being thrown half way across the galaxy, his problems got worse. B'Elanna was trapped on an unknown planet, so his engines were barely holding together without her unique brand of care. Weapons were marginal at best. He'd been short a decent pilot since Paris's defection a year ago. The crew who were left managed to get the life support and shields up and running at maximum efficiency.

Crew! That was another problem entirely. A ship this size should have a complement of forty well trained and cohesive members. They'd been running on three quarters of that number, some with little more than their hatred of Cardassians as their only recommendation to be coerced into service. Strangely, there losses from the temporal wave had been light, four dead and six injured. So far the EMH on Voyager had managed to patch up the wounds to all but one of his crew. Then, of course there was Torres, Chakotay's most valued officer and friend, currently being held by the entity that brought them to this place.

"What am I going to do with her," Chakotay could imagine the arguments already, when she returned to duty, "and that man, if I have to accept Paris as part of my crew? The way he left us, I doubt he'll find easy passage on _Val Jean_ , even if he is the best pilot in the quadrent!"

B'Elanna would protect Tom, as she had done the on _Liberty_ , against her colleagues, no matter the damage to her reputation or _Val Jean's_ crew who cared to disagree with the temperamental half Klingon. The length of the relationship explained his engineer's determination to keep **_him_** with her, even as Seska spread rumours about his past when he'd first join the Maquis. As Captain, Chakotay knew, no matter how much he loathed Paris, he would have to support his second officer's choice of lover. More, he would have to keep the crew from dismembering the cocky pilot or B'Elanna wouldn't be happy.

_And_ , Chakotay sighed, _an unhappy B'Elanna will decreased the chance of our continued survival. She's been the one able to keep this old girl running after all the damage the Cardassian's have ravaged._

"I don't have to like it," the Maquis Captain muttered to himself, glad he was in the cockpit alone. "I do have to keep my engines running and the only way to achieve that is to have B'Elanna on board and working with me. If that means I have to accept that pilot, then I guess I'll have to keep the rest of the crew in line." With a rather conceited smile of his own, Chakotay realised Voyager's helm would be that much poorer for the loss of Paris's skills.

"Janeway to Chakotay," the Captain's voice came over the speaker, breaking into the man's heavy thoughts. "Our sensors have detected a small vessel. One humanoid life form is on board. I'm about to make contact. I'll have Mr. Kim patch through the communication."

"Acknowledged," Chakotay found himself falling back into Starfleet speak much more easily than he'd considered possible.

_I was sixteen when I started at the academy. Four years learning all the procedures and protocols, another three as an Ensign, ten in total until I was promoted to Lt. Commander. I've served as the first officer on a two starships and spent five years teaching Advanced Tactical Techniques, it's no wonder I fall back into old patterns. Two decades of my life, spent in uniform until three years ago. Who am I kidding,_ he finally admitted to himself, _I've used those very procedures and protocols with my crew since joining the Maquis. That's why my cell has always been a thorn in the side both the Cardassian's and Federation. If Janeway is correct and we can't get home, only the strict regime of Starfleet is going to get us through the next few decades._

His mind otherwise engaged, Chakotay watched the communication between the strange little man designating himself a Talaxian and Voyager's Captain with more than a little humour. When Janeway debriefed their new passenger, the Maquis captain would, no doubt, get a full report. It was the right way to do things, according to Starfleet.

While _Voyager_ and _Val Jean_ made their way to the Ocampa home world, Tom and B'Elanna where ready to start their attempt at escape. Looking at his wife, B'Elanna nodded, signalling she was ready for what would come next. Before they reached the door, it opened and Jal stood on the other side.

"Knocking," B'Elanna bit out, hands folding over her chest in a defensive manoeuvre, "is considered good manners where we come from."

"Jal," the look in Tom's eye said he'd made one of those sudden and unexpected leaps of logic and intended to follow through, "have you detected the change in the energy signature from the Caretaker?"

"Yes," the man looked confused. "The Elders are meeting to evaluate the message."

"B'Elanna believes the Caretaker is sending a data stream on the back on your usual power emissions," Tom explained, watching the medic's reaction. "If this is the case, do you have a library, or somewhere that would receive these signals? Some kind of terminal?"

"There is the ancient journal room," Jal offered quietly. "When the caretaker sends messages, they usually appear on the wall in the main concourse. There have been occasions when data has been received and one of our elders is called to interpret the meaning."

"Has that occurred on this occasion?" Tom asked.

Jal nodded.

Giving her husband a significant look, B'Elanna asked, "could we see the journal room? I might be able to decode the signal, if I can see it."

Jal seemed to look off into the distance for a few seconds before nodding. "Please follow me," he offered, leading the way out of the medical clinic. "The council of elders had given permission for the archives to be open to you. I will show you the way."

"Your telepathic," Tom couldn't hide his surprise. "I remember, when I woke up, thinking that you were speaking into my mind."

"Yes," Jal agreed. "We attempted to communicate telepathically with you without success. All Ocampa understand they must speak if they wish to communicate with you."

The group fell into silence as they wandered through the corridors and hallways, then out into the open cavern. It seemed the data storage facility was located some distance away, in what had once been the centre of the vast, sprawling city. The moment the door to the hermetically sealed room was open, B'Elanna made her way to an ancient looking holo-terminal.

Jal leant over her shoulder as the woman took a seat. Placing a finger print on the sensor, it came to life. He waved a hand to start the program. Photons of light leapt out of the transmitter, forming patterns in a defined area before B'Elanna. Although their universal translators could interpret spoken language easily, they didn't extend to another species written communications. Tom gave his wife a look of sympathy. It would take some for B'Elanna to work her way around the technology.

"This," Jal found the file, "is the data the Caretaker is currently sending."

"B'El?" Questioned Tom, astounded as the patterns turned into complexed schematics.

"It's the power systems," she answered, her quite voice telling him not to interrupt her analysis.

"Jal," Tom requested, "may we stay here and study your journals?"

"You are free to move about the city," he stated, understanding they wished to be alone.

Withdrawing, Jal communicated this fact to the Elders. They were intrigued by the strangers behaviour, yet had faith in the Caretaker providing all they required. The ability to read the journals and interpret pictures had been retained by the Ocampa, however, none knew what to make of the drawings.

_It seems_ , one of the more enlightened Elders thought, _the woman has skills the Ocampa lost generations ago. Perhaps, by sending us a mated pair, the Caretaker wishes these strangers to teach us that which we have lost. If they have each other, they will be content to spend their lives in our city._

_They live longer than the Ocampa,_ added another of the Elders _. Our children will benefit from their understanding and teaching._

_Perhaps in time,_ Jal offered carefully _, they will have children of their own._

_Such can only become an asset to the Ocampa,_ the initial Elder remarked _. Any child of their union will take an Ocampa mate. In time our population will live longer_.

_The man, known as Tom_ , Jal explained, _has three siblings._

_Then let us hope Tom and his mate will produce many offspring,_ a female voice commented a little wistfully.

"Well," Tom asked impatiently.

"Water, power, refuse, it's all here," B'Elanna turned to stare at her husband with wide eyes. "These are the schematics for the city and all the patches that have been necessary over the centuries. I'm not going to pretend I understand how some of this technology works. It's based on a type of energy system I've never seen before but the efficiency is frightening. One hundred percent conversion, without loss within the system."

"Can we copy the data?" Tom wondered out loud.

"Not a change, Flyboy," she huffed, more from frustration than his question. "There's more information than any known Federation Starbase could store. I might be able to isolate the shield harmonic frequency and reprogram the tricorder to pick up any breaks. If I'm really lucky, I might even find a resonance that will create a hole and make our escape easier."

"Can we transmit the information to Voyager?" He pressed. "I get the feeling, if we could use some of this technology, we might be able to get back to the Alpha quadrant sooner rather than later. I don't know about Val Jean, but if she's up to the usual Maquis standard…"

"Are you mocking my ship?" B'Elanna's ire grew.

"Just the quality of the merchandise," Tom grinned wickedly, "the Maquis are able to appropriate. If it weren't for an certain engineer…"

"Let me see what I can do," B'Elanna offered, rolling her eyes and sending Tom a look that said, don't interrupt me again.

Sighing, he settled into another seat to sit and watch his wife at work. Knowing B'Elanna had a much better grip on anything remotely technical, Tom Paris soon became board. Looking around the room, he discovered passages leading off in several directions. Glancing at B'Elanna once again, he knew she'd be busy for hours with the look of concentration on her face.

"Let's see what's behind door number one," he whispered, unwilling to disturbed his wife and earn yet another look of irritation.


	11. Stardate 48316.1: It's All in the Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt B'Elanna and Harry's skills were under-utilised while trapped in the Ocampa city during Caretaker. I know Harry's suppose to be green but B'Elanna's a survivor. Surely, being with the Maquis, she wouldn't have wallowed in pity, even if she were made ill by the Caretaker. Suddenly all that anger just evaporated. Well, not in this fic.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Thomas Eugene Paris," he told himself sarcastically as he stepped into the unknown.

That wasn't entirely true in this case. The moment he'd moved into the dark hallway, lights automatically illuminated the corridor twenty meters in either direction. The solid walls on either side turned transparent with a very slight opacity. There didn't seem to be any controls beside the entry chambers, allowing Tom to glaze into the dimly lit room but not access the rows upon rows of books.

"When Jal said journals," Tom muttered under his breath, "he really meant it. Cellulose based material with printed words. No wonder they need these airless, dehumidified rooms. The oxygen and moisture would destroy the physical material after a few hundred years."

Door one and two lead to long hallways with more hermetically sealed rooms on either side. As far as Tom could see, the corridor continued half a kilometre, before turning back on itself. Thus he'd entered door one, only to exit door two with an uninterrupted walk in between.

Back in the main room, he found B'Elanna's concentration had not wavered. Three dimensional photons emanated from the computer terminal dancing before the focused engineer. She seemed to understand the patterns, moving them about with her hands, sighing and changing their position every so slightly before her eyes darted from one side of the field to another, pleased with her actions. Tom could see she was in her element, as the grimace and deep furrows on her Klingon ridges testified. He knew better than to disturbed her until she was ready to acknowledge him.

"Any luck," B'Elanna asked, finally looking up with a slight smirk. She'd felt her husband's eyes on her but had been too involved with her current manipulation of the Ocampan computer system to pay him any attention. Once the system parameters accepted her unique style of input, B'Elanna realised it was an adaptive intelligence. Her exploration increased exponentially, as had her thirst to understand this world and it's technology. What she found was not reassuring but not completely discouraging either.

"None," Tom stated with more than a little distaste. It didn't take long to explain his discoveries.

An ironic smile covered his wife's lips. "From what I can tell, you're not going to find anything different behind that door, only a hallway leads back to this room through the that door." B'Elanna pointed to the final portal.

Tom felt somewhat disappointed, unsure what he'd expected, yet he knew B'Elanna's capabilities and hoped she'd had better luck uncovering something to help them escape. "I guess I wanted you'd be able to find an easy way out of here. Or at least something to make contact with Val Jean or Voyager."

Folding her arms across her chest, B'Elanna gave her husband one of those looks. "Do you have so little faith in me," the tone teasing, there was an element of hurt.

"No," Tom answered, carefully. He'd learnt, the hard way, about his wife's volatile temper. "That's why I left you in peace. You work better without me, or anyone else, under your feet."

"Computer," B'Elanna called out, her eyes still locked with Tom's.

"Waiting," a toneless voice answered.

"How does the Caretaker transport visitors into this city?" The Engineer asked, her grin increasing. Little surprised her husband. Getting the computer to accept voice prompts hadn't been that difficult, once Tom's comment about the Ocampa being telepathic finally hit home. Instead of answering verbally, the image glowing before B'Elanna changed. Schematics of the entire complex narrowed to a single room. Approaching, Tom's piloting skills came into their own.

"If I'm reading the spacial dimensions correctly, this room is down the hall from our quarters in the Medical Clinic," Tom stated.

"It's a one way transporter," B'Elanna explained, "controlled by the Caretaker from the array. When Val Jean encountered the station, he beamed the entire crew onto the station. I assume from your expression, the same happened on Voyager. It's taken some time to understand the technology, it's about four or five generations above our current transporters. It seems a com signal on the target isn't required. The beam can be set to wide dispersal, taking every living being within the buffer zone."

"That's gigaquads of information!" Tom sound shocked. "Voyager is able to transport eight in a single beam up. Even then, the storage for the buffer patterns is a drain on the ships energy and data resources."

"One hundred percent energy conversion," B'Elanna reminded the man of their earlier conversation. "In terms of what the Caretaker sends the Ocampa, both power pulses and visitors, and the number of times he uses the system, it's a trivial expenditure. I'm not sure how, but the array collects dark matter and converts it to a form of energy that powers this city and space station."

"Dark matter?" Tom sounded confused. He was the one with the Starfleet degree in astrophysics. "That's not possible, at least in the Alpha quardrent."

"There's more," B'Elanna's excitement was tempered by a sudden sadness. "Even if we are trapped in this city for the rest of our lives, there is no way I could convert the energy system to something more standard."

"You've given up hope of being rescued," Tom asked, astonished.

The look she gave him was enough. B'Elanna was speaking out loud, proud of her ability to navigate this alien system and find the data they needed to understand the situation better. "What I'm trying to tell you, the changes are going to need to happen in the next six to eight years, before the current surplus runs out."

"Why," a bemused Tom asked, "would the energy run out. I know I joked about your skills being necessary, but the pulses are still being received."

"Those Ocampa who said the Caretaker had acting unusually," B'Elanna reminded, "were closer to the truth than they realised. About ten minutes ago, the energy pulses stopped completely and the station realigned. There's only a data stream coming down from the array now. There's so much information, it's clogging the systemic and making it difficult for me to continue poking around."

"Maybe the answer is in there somewhere," Tom suggested, pointing to the sealed archives.

"I don't think so. All that data's backed up electronically. I can tell you what I have found. The planet above us has no neculonics, it's effectively a dessert with no way for the Ocampa to survive without the Caretaker," B'Elanna stated. "The only water is trapped down here. Once we reach the surface, it's going to be impossible to survive for very long."

Startled, Tom's mind did the calculations, and came up with a startling theory. "What sort of being lives more than two thousand years?" He asked, speaking more to himself than B'Elanna. "Strange how this entity came just in time to save the Ocampa, built the city and treats them like children, protecting them and keeping them safe but locked away underground. Do you think the Caretaker is responsible for stripping the planet of it's neculonics?"

"It really doesn't matter," B'Elanna shrugged. "We can't attempt an escape until we know Voyager or Val Jean is in orbit and can beam us out, that's if we can find an way to get to the surface. We wouldn't last more than a few days up there, even with all the equipment we've managed to scavenge. I'm trying to patch the tricorder into the sensor array attached to the power collectors. This device," she held up the primitive black box, "isn't capable of more than receiving basic data and scanning. Once I've connected the two systems, it will let us know when a ship enters orbit. We should have enough power to get a message out."

"Do you want me to make the recording?" Tom asked.

"I think that'll be the best idea," B'Elanna agreed. "Val Jean's com isn't much more advanced than her engines, so Voyager will probably intercept the message, if I can get this programming to work. Make it voice only, that way I might be able to hide the transmission with background noise."

"I hope," Tom managed one of his cocky smiles to hide his insecurities when he completed the recording, "Captain Janeway responds to our cry for help. I'm going to be a dead man if Chakotay get to the rendezvous point this first."

Growling, B'Elanna didn't want to think about what would happen once they were rescued. They'd started to reconnect over the last few days. As much as she'd never tell Tom, B'Elanna didn't want to lose him again so soon. Today, especially, demonstrated how well they worked together.

"I've completed the code," she stated neutrally. "Now we wait. Until then, let's go and see the transporter. I need to reconfigure it to beam us back to the array so we have some chance of rescue."

They spent the remainder of the day going over every millimetre of the transporter room. B'Elanna removed most of the panels with various grunts and profanities in Klingon. Without her tools, it was impossible to change anything physically. Tom concentrated on coding the beam in sequence and optimising the buffering system to return them to the array but seemed to make little head way. His temper stated to fray after several hours of going round in circles.

"The best I can do," an exhausted engineer stated as they stopped for a break, her head falling onto her husband's shoulder as they sat side by side, "is get us back to the array by using a feedback loop. Even then, I'm not sure it's going to work."

"I'm sure Chakotay and Captain Janeway have concluded we're not on the array," Tom also looked defeated. "Unless they make it into close orbit, there doesn't see to be a point trying to make any other changes here. Come on, B'Elanna, lets go back to our apartment and get cleaned up. All we can do now is wait for a return signal."

Discouraged, they couldn't know both Voyager and Val Jean entered the planetary space. The data stream emanating from the array placed a very low priority on B'Elanna's outgoing request. In the hours they waited, Neelix lead an away team to the surface, rescuing Kes and introducing the Kason-Nistrum to the Federations advanced technology. Eventually completing the data dump, the array realigned once again. This time destructive pulses rained down on the planet, sealing the Ocampa in their subterranean home.

Janeway, followed closely by Chakotay, entered the sick bay. While the Starfleet Captain demonstrated her ire at the Tellaxian's duplicity, the Maquis stood back and observed the situation. It seemed the elfin woman would aid them in locating B'Elanna and Paris. She knew of the tunnels leading into the city.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway," Harry's voice came over the com, interrupting the discussion on how to extract their people with the shield in place.

"Go a head, Ensign," Janeway's head lifted to the source of the sound emanating from the ceiling. Her face set, Kathryn wanted some good news but wasn't willing to demonstrate that wish to her demoralised crew.

"We're picking up a signal, audio only, coming from two kilometres below the surface," Harry reported.

"On our way, Janeway out." Turning the the Maquis Captain, an eyebrow rose. "Care to accompany me, Mr. Chakotay. I believe this could be very interesting."

Nodding, he continued a step behind the woman. His own hopes soared. He needed B'Elanna back, if his ship were to survive. Once on the bridge, Ensign Kim played the message when his captain turned her gaze on him.

"Captain Janeway, Chakotay," Tom Paris's voice sounded tinny. Harry worked with a smile on his face, attempting to clear up the signal. Listening to the crews, it seemed their observer really was despised by both Starfleet and Maquis alike. As Tom's voice over proved with the expressions of abhorrence on many of the bridge personnel. "We're really hoping you all safe and still out there to receive this message. B'Elanna Torres, Val Jean's engineer and I were transported from the array to a medical facility in this underground city five days ago. We have no idea why they took us, but are considered honoured guests by the Ocampa and are both well. We've been given the keys to the city. It's allowed B'Elanna to access the computer system and find the components to construct a primitive tricorder. I've recorded this message while B'Elanna is working to deliver it the moment either Voyager or Val Jean is detected in orbit. We've also managed to reroute the transporter used by the entity on the array, known as the Caretaker, to return us to that location once it's delivered."

"We have explored every avenue of escape from this subterranean city and found none. The tunnels leading to the surface are thousands of years old and protected by a force shield. Many of the tunnels have collapsed and B'Elanna believes once the data stream currently emanating from the array ceases, the Caretaker will seal any possibility of escape to protect the Ocampa from other sentient beings in this sector. This city has enough stored power to survive seven years, beyond that the Ocampa will not survive, unless they learn to become independent and able to meet their own needs. We've come to the conclusion the Caretaker is either dying or leaving these people to their own devices. Either way, it means extinction and there's nothing we can do to help them. B'Elanna said the technology is based on dark matter conversion and there is no way she can adapt the current energy system into a self sustainable operation."

"Our tricorder has uncovered micro fractures in the shielding but nothing large enough for a human to get through. The Caretaker's transporter uses these events to beam visitors into the city. We're going to reprogram the system and use one of the fissures to get back to the array. When our signal is received, B'Elanna had programmed the Tricorder to give us a signal. Assuming either one or both ships survived, has managed to gain warp two and calculating the distance to the array, we'll beam out approximately 20 hours after you received our message. If all works out, we'll be seeing you soon."

"Would you join me in my ready room, Mr. Chakotay?" Janeway offered. Every one on the bridge knew it to be an order. "Mr. Culhane, lay in a course for the array."

"If I may, Captain," Chakotay indicated the com station.

With a nod of acceptance, Janeway requested Mr. Kim open a channel to Val Jean. After giving the order for his ship to return to the array beside Voyager, Chakotay followed the Captain into her domain. A grimace forced the corners of his lips downward. Acknowledgment that B'Elanna and Paris were alive increased their odds of survival in this quardrent, but opened a whole new can of worms. From what he'd seen, Voyager didn't have an experienced pilot and their chief engineer had been killed in the temporal displacement. Chakotay's heart dropped into his stomach at the though of the two ships arguing over the services of one Thomas Paris.

Where ever that trouble maker goes, Chakotay surmised, B'Elanna will want to follow. Especially if they've been together five days and not killed each other.


	12. Stardate 48319.1: Back to the Array.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what you'll think of this section, I've plumbed the depths of Tom's insecurities and offered alternative explanations for the decision in his life which brought him to this point. I hope I haven't tortured him too much. Then again, I see Tom Paris as a very hurt and tortured soul. I'm thinking of writing several short stories about meeting B'Elanna, Caldik Prime and their marriage. Let me know if you want the history.

Beep, beep, beep.

The incessant sound broke into his sleep and wouldn't stop. Warm and sleeping peacefully for the first time in several nights, Tom managed to rouse himself from the comfortable bed. He felt the mattress dip beside him as B'Elanna woke in her usual fashion, immediately and on high alert. A smile covered his face, remembering other mornings, then reality and that annoying sound intruded on his daydream.

Even though they'd been expecting the tricorder's alarm, it came in the early hours of the city's night. Disgruntled with their progress in the Caretaker's transporter receiving room last evening, the couple returned to their small apartment discouraged. Changing, they headed for the courtyard to share one of the Ocampan's nutritious meals replacements. Both tired and on edge, there was little to do but wait and even less to talk about. They were in a holding pattern.

Four nights spent on the couch had taken its tole on Tom's emotional psyche. He eyed the sofa warily when they returned to their quarters. Understanding the next day might change the basis of their relationship forever, it had been B'Elanna who suggested Tom join her in the bed. Accepting the offer, he didn't need to be told to keep his hands to himself. Any kind of intimacy wouldn't be appreciated, nor would it be appropriate if they had to go their separate ways in the very near future. The thought kept both awake and battling their insecurities, just when they'd rekindled the attraction that brought them together in the first place.

"First time I get to share a bed with my wife in over a year," Tom groaned, leaving the rest of the suggestive sentence hanging. That wife wouldn't appreciate his sense of humour at this hour. Nor would she appreciate the biological arousal that visited most men on waking. Hiding beneath the covers, Tom waited for her retort which was sure to kill his ardour.

"Don't count on it happening again, any time soon," B'Elanna responded automatically, already half way across the room. Taking the tricorder from the table, she analysed the data. A surprised expression entered her eyes. " _Voyager_ and _Val Jean_ were in orbit nearly fifteen hours ago. Captain Janeway acknowledged receiving your messing and has accepted our plan. Both ships have set a course back to the array. Come on Tom, we have work to finish if we're gong to make this timeline."

"Why the delay in the signal?" He asked, scratching his head and moving slowly.

"It might have had something to do with the data stream taking up so much of the computing power. The response from the terminal in the Journal room decreased the minute the array realigned. Come on Flyboy, we don't have any time to lose," B'Elanna threw the long over-shirt the Ocampan's wore at her husband. In the past he'd slept naked, they both had, when sharing a bed. Ignoring the possibilities surrounding that thought, B'Elanna explained, "the Caretaker might shut down the transporter network once he's done sending data and we could be trapped here."

That got his attention. It didn't take long for them to gather their packs and head back to the room down the corridor. Pulling the tricorder to pieces, B'Elanna found the component she wanted.

"What are you going to do with that," Tom asked, intrigued.

"This," she smiled up from the open console beneath the station he'd been working at yesterday, "is going to cause the feed back loop. I've been thinking about the system all night and the solution just came to me. I'm not sure how long we're going to have before this technology senses the intrusion, so we're going to have to be ready to transport the minute I get the device hooked up."

"You want to go now?" He asked, attempting to hide is shock. "We got at least five hours to wait on that array before Voyager and Val Jean will be in transporter range."

"If the technology is the same as here," B'Elanna's voice echoed from her current location, "I'm hoping to find a way to get us home."

_Time to poke around in the Caretaker's computer system,_ Tom should have realised the engineer in his wife wouldn't be happy unless she could get at least some of the data back to their ships.

Suddenly any shred of hope died. Thomas Eugene Paris's throat closed over as the lump inside threatened to strangle him. Had she been watching, B'Elanna would have seen her husband deflate before her eyes. Returning to the Alpha quadrant seemed to be the fastest way to kill every one of his dreams, dreams that had slowly been reemerging the longer they spent together. Swallowing hard, fingers shaking, he lent on the panel before him as reality rudely intruded.

"I'm setting the coordinates," he offered, his voice strangely subdued. The light in his clear blue eyes faded and Tom Paris became a shadow of his former self. He felt the mental blood draining from his mind, and his body closing down behind it.

"Done," B'Elanna announced, rising from the floor and bouncing toward the transporter pad.

"I'm going to energise from here," Tom managed, refusing to make eye contact and let her see his intentions.

"You'd better move quick, Tom," B'Elanna responded automatically. It took several seconds to understand his body language and the reason for his unusual behaviour. Growling, she stepped on the transporter pad and declared, "I'm not leaving you behind."

Smirking sadly, he finally allowed his eyes to rest on her. This was the moment of truth and he couldn't let it pass with out telling her how he felt. "Would it be so bad," he offered in a soft tone, his eyes pools of misery. "All your problems would be solved, B'El. You could move on with your life and, you know, this place is not so bad."

"Don't you do this," B'Elanna shouted, marching off the platform and facing him with very little space between them, "not now. I'm not going to be shoved into another life pod and told you love me, not knowing what happened to you for months."

"What do you want from me, B'Elanna," Tom's desperation suddenly welled into an uncontrollable fury at the universe. "I can't do this again. I can't. It almost broke me last time. My only conciliation was knowing I saved your life, that you were out there somewhere. I was stuck in a mental straight jacket for the first three months of my incarceration, medicated so I wouldn't do anything stupid. Every mistake I ever made came back to haunt me each time I closed my eyes. What do I have to look forward to, but more of the same, if I step on that transporter pad?"

Shocked didn't begin to describe B'Elanna's reaction. "I don't know," she offered in a humble tone, unable to look at him. The expression had been heartbreaking. The one emotion that trumped all the others was her love for him. She'd never stopped. For the first time it quashed the fear of abandonment, his and hers both, held her anger dead in it's tracts and filled that lonely place she'd ignored in her heart for so long. Finding the courage with a deep breath and exhalation, B'Elanna Torres made the only declaration she could. "I can't promise you anything, Tom. I don't know what the future holds. All you can do is take a leap of faith with me and hope, because I love you too, we can conquer everything else together."

"What if its not enough," Tom's voice was hoarse with emotion. He knew what those words cost her. Abandonment was B'Elanna's biggest fear and here he was, about to abandon her once again, even if it was for all the right reasons.

Holding out her hand, she felt vulnerable, exposed in a way she'd never let herself be. She could see the understanding in her husbands eyes. "Then I'll have to have enough for both of us," B'Elanna stated.

Nodding, Tom found it within himself to encompass her smaller digits in his. It wasn't nearly enough contact. Pulling B'Elanna in, he embraced her, one hand tightening around her waist, the other at the back of her neck. Their foreheads touched as he breathed hard, attempting to keep his emotions under control.

"We have to go," B'Elanna tried to sound comforting, but time was their enemy.

"I know," Tom sighed, untangling himself with reluctance.

Grabbing her hand, his look stated they'd do this together or die trying. Gathering his courage, Tom located the transporter control, engaging it with a single, smooth motion. They made it to the pad just as the whine of the demolecularisation beam commenced. Capturing the pair, their organic structure transferred into the buffer on the station. They reappeared in the front yard of a white washed, twentieth century farm house.

"We're on the array," B'Elanna stated. "I remember this place."

Nodding, Tom led the way to the barn he knew was around the back. It had been subtly altered. Going to the back wall, his hands explored and found a panel that looked out of place among the hay and animals. It's flashing lights and uniform grey colour stated a purpose other than decoration.

"This is where the Caretaker kept you and the other Maquis," Tom remembered the exact moment the door opened. B'Elanna had almost been within touching distance. "It has to be a medical laboratory of some kind. If we can get beyond this room, maybe you can access the computer system and find out why the Caretaker abducts people and what the test are for," Tom spoke clearly, although anyone who knew him understood the lack of emotion demonstrated his continuing vulnerability.

Ignoring her rapidly beating heart, and the unbidden images that assaulted her, B'Elanna took a look at the panel. Muttering under her breath, she wished for a tricorder or some tools to work with. Placing her hand against the scanner, more out of hope, a door making up the back wall of the barn suddenly opened. Shocked, Tom and B'Elanna glanced at each other before approaching the long hallway.

Silently they walked down the corridor, alcoves capable of holding a being on each side lay dormant. Memories of their pain and suffering were accepted with a simple contact of one's hand in the others. As was the acknowledgement that whatever the Caretaker was looking for, he'd found in them.

"Why?" B'Elanna asked. "Why do you think he did it?"

Shuddering, Tom had been considering the same question. He didn't like the direction his thoughts travelled. Yet the growing bank of evidence was leading to one indisputable conclusion, the Caretaker had their DNA. What he might do with a married couples DNA, given they refused to copulate while in the Ocampan City, didn't need to much consideration.

"Maybe we'll never know," eyes bright and sparkling with suppressed anger, Tom answered his wife in a soothing tone. "I'm more concerned about how easily we've managed to return to the array and why we've been granted access into the stations inner workings."

"Next door we come to," B'Elanna sighed, "see if you can open it."

Giving his wife an incredulous look, Tom wondered if she had come to the same theory. It didn't take long. Approaching the end of the hall, another panel hung on the wall. This time Tom placed his hand against the cool glass. The door opened immediately. The white room beyond was featureless, until they stepped inside.

On a whim, B'Elanna called, "computer, where are we."

"You are in the extraction chamber," the neutral voice stated.

"Can you show us a schematic of the array," Tom asked, hoping the system would accept his input as easily as B'Elanna's.

A door opened to the left. "Please proceed to the main memory core data retrieval room."

Wordlessly they stared at each other. Agreement in their gaze, Tom and B'Elanna stepped into the unknown. Door after door slid aside as they approached, requesting they take the designated path to their chosen destination. If either thought to question the computer further, neither voiced the idea.

"You have reached your destination," the voice stated. "Array schematics able to be accessed by Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres are displayed."

"What do you mean schematics able to be accessed?" B'Elanna demanded.

"Life support systems for bipedal humanoids is limited to the designated areas," it answered.

"Are the energy collectors malfunctioning?" Torres asked, her engineering mind looking at this problem from a technical prospective. B'Elanna noticed the understanding in Tom's expression. If the array had become damaged, perhaps it was no longer capable of collecting dark matter.

"Negative," came the frustratingly short answer.

"I don't understand," B'Elanna tried again, holding back her frustration. "Why is over three quarters of the array closed to us if energy isn't an issue."

"Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres are granted access to the following areas," the computer insisted.

Intrigued, Tom asked, "can you open up another terminal with spacial data for one hundred thousand kilometres surrounding this array."

"Tom," B'Elanna questioned his reasoning with the tone of her voice, as the computer complied with Paris's request.

"Just a hunch," he managed an ironic smile, turning towards the ball of space that appeared. "I think _Voyager_ and _Val Jean_ are within sensor range. Here," he pointed to two small craft approaching the station at a rapid rate. "The areas we are allowed access too, they're in the middle of the array, keeping us safe if there's an attack."

"The approaching vessels are Kazon raiders," the computer stated.

"An interactive system," B'Elanna frowned. "I should have known. The computer on the Ocampa world is modelled off this unit. Computer, why were Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres separated from their shipmates and sent to the Ocampan City?"

"Access to that information is denied," the voice sounded slightly annoyed.

"Looks like you struct a nerve," Tom's smile finally became genuine, until his own theory killed any hope of teasing B'Elanna. "Let's try this from a different angle. Will the Caretaker send us back to the Ocampan City?"

"The probability approaches zero," the computer answered.

"So, we're prisoners on the array," he persisted.

"You are honoured guests."

"That sounds familiar," B'Elanna folded her arms across her chest and frowned. "At least we've made it from the planet to the array. All right then, were is the transporter room?"

"The transporter system is now inoperative," answered the computer.

"Can we send a sub space message to our ship?" Tom asked.

"Access denied."

B'Elanna sent him a look that said, what now?

"We're not going to find anything out from here," Tom considered their next move carefully. "If Voyager sends an away team, their likely to beam into the location with the farm holo program. I think were better off going to that location and waiting for our people. Computer," he requested as an after thought, "can we access your files from anywhere on the array."

"Yes."

"Please lead us back to the holosuite and relay the spacial data to the porch of the house. Oh, a glass of lemonade and some of those cookies wouldn't go astray!"

Rolling her eyes, B'Elanna had trouble believing this was the same man who almost sacrificed himself an hour ago. Taking her hand before she could pull away, Tom led them back down the endless corridors and through empty rooms. Sure enough, Aunt Adah was waiting for them, just as she had been on their first appearance.

"Come on, now," she greeted cheerfully. "I have a pitcher of lemonade and some sugar cookies all laid out. Your room's been aired and is ready and waiting. I'm sure you'll want to rest before dinner. The neighbours are coming to welcome you home."

"Thank you," Tom's polite smiled didn't reach his eyes. Whispering into B'Elanna's ear, he requested, "just go along with it."

Growling low in her throat, his wife demonstrated her dissatisfaction in the only way possible. Pulling her hand away from his grasp, B'Elanna threw herself into the nearest seat. Becoming defensive, her body language told Tom to stay clear unless he wanted to bear the consequences.

"You married a feisty one," Aunt Adah commented with a chuckle. "Keeps life interesting, I dare say."

Even Tom wouldn't touch that with a barge pole. Sighing, he took a seat at the opposite end of the table. Looking out at the view, he wondered how long they'd have to wait for Voyager to rescue them.


	13. Stardate 48319.3: Battle Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes to us thanks to my muse being tickled by reading Delwin's stories (on FF.net, not sure if their archived here). If you haven't perused them, I suggest you do. Thank you, for the ideas. I love your characterisation of Tom and B'Elanna.
> 
> I'm sure most ST:Voyager fans have seen the rank inconsistencies during the first season. Tuvok is referred to as Lieutenant but has Lt. Commander insignia. The same is true of Lt. Paris. The second pip only becomes black in Episode 12. I'm going with full Lieutenant in my AU. In this timeline, Tom is five years older than B'Elanna. She exited the academy at 19, in her second year. Tom's been promoted to Lieutenant (jg) when they meet. Initially he lies about the crash and remained in Starfleet. So by the time he's cashiered out of Starfleet, I assume he'd made full Lieutenant. More of that in another story, if their's enough interest.

"Voyager to Chakotay," Janeway had her operations officer open a channel between the ships. There were less than an hour away from their rendezvous point with Paris and Torres at their present speed. Current intelligence suggested they increase velocity.

"Put it on screen, Seska," Chakotay commanded. As soon as the visual came through , he acknowledged, "go ahead, Captain."

Seska and Ayala had taken over bridge duties while Chakotay spoke with Janeway after rescuing Kes and Neelix from the Kazon. The pair didn't match Torres and Paris in skills, but they'd have to do for the time being. The remainder of his crew had made enough repairs to fend off any unwanted attention. Which was just as well with the news about to be delivered from Voyagers long range sensors.

"We have detected two Kazon vessels approaching the Array," Janeway offered the information easily, taking in the three individuals seated in the smaller ships cockpit. "They appear to be small raiders, about the same size as _Val Jean._ We estimate they will reach the Caretaker's station twenty minutes prior to our arrival."

"Have Tuvok send over an analysis of their capabilities," Chakotay requested. "Our sensors are still being repaired."

"I don't want to engage them, if at all possible, Mr. Chakotay," Janeway stated, one eyebrow rising. "My intention is to beam an away team to the array and bring our people home. Once we have Paris and Torres safely on board, I hope to open a dialogue with the Caretaker."

Seska couldn't help snort at the idea. Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "lets just ask him to send us home!"

A look from Chakotay silenced her. Returning his attention to the screen, _Val Jean's_ Captain couldn't help approach this from a Maquis perspective where little turned out to be so simple. So far the old man with the banjo hadn't been all that helpful. In more diplomatic terms, Chakotay communicated his doubts. _Voyager_ , by venture of its size and capacity, had to be the commanding ship in this minuscule convoy. Beside, he'd given his word they would work together until Torres and Paris were safe.

They played it by the Starfleet book, for as much good as it did. Janeway, along with Tuvok and two security personnel beamed over to the array. They found Paris and Torres waiting on the porch of Aunt Adah's house, seemingly whiling away the afternoon.

"Took you long enough," Tom wore is trademark nothings going to annoy me mask that hid his true feelings. Beside him a holosphere of the space surrounding the array demonstrated four vessels currently in orbit, friend and foe clearly demarcated. Beyond that, B'Elanna Torres watched proceedings with narrowed eyes. It seemed the couple had been patiently awaiting their rescue.

Kathryn Janeway could see the fatigue covering both faces. In Tom Paris's case, his expression disguised his wariness, and emotional unease that permeated the atmosphere surrounding him. Not knowing B'Elanna Torres, her expression was inscrutable to the captain, yet gave off a distinctly suspicious aura. Instinct played a part in choosing to handle them very carefully. It seemed their time alone and together made the bond stronger and yet pulled them apart.

_Perhaps_ , she considered, _that's the type of relationship they share. It couldn't be easy, married a month, separated for a year, only to be thrown together again under the current circumstances. I don't envy their future, or the repercussions they know nothing about._

"I'm glad to see you arrived to the array in one piece, Mr. Paris, Ms. Torres," Janeway offered with her own mocking smile. It was appreciated by Paris but not his companion. Somehow, Kathryn couldn't bring herself to say wife. That secret was for Paris and Torres to share as they wished. "Mr. Jarvis will transport back to Voyager with you."

"If its all the same to you," B'Elanna issued the request in a barely civil tone, "I'd prefer to beam back to _Val Jean_."

"Mr. Chakotay though you might disagree with my plan, Ms. Torres. We spoke of your previous," pausing, Janeway trapped the young engineer's gaze, challengingly, "acquaintance and what might have occurred, confined together in that city."

"Captain," Tom interrupted the battle of wills between the two women. B'Elanna's stubbornness matched Janeway's. There wouldn't be any winners.

"You have no right," B'Elanna stated, hurt, horrified and furious that someone other than Tom was digging around in her private life, "nor does Chakotay."

"That's where you're wrong," emphasised the Captain. "The wellbeing of my crew gives me every right, Ms. Torres. Your extensive association to my observer is of the utmost significance in how we proceed. You're both to report to sickbay and have the doctor look you over. Then," Janeway's expression softened as her eyes flicked to her very obviously apprehensive observer, "your free to choose your future. I'm sure Mr. Paris has filled you in. Tom?"

"I have, Captain," he answered. All his hard won composure almost crumbled. "We'll discuss it on _Voyager_."

"Very good," she nodded. "Janeway to Voyager."

"Captain," Rollins voice came over the com sounding relieved. "The Kazon are powering up their weapons and hailing us. So far they don't know an away team is on the array."

"Lock on to my signal and beam myself and Lt. Tuvok directly to the bridge," she ordered.

The tingle of the transporter encompassed everyone in the party. Tom and B'Elanna found themselves in sick bay with an entourage of two security officers guarding the exit. Without a word the couple allowed the Emergency Medical Hologram to look them over. Once he'd finished, Tom asked for a moment alone with B'Elanna. It seemed they'd been briefed to allow the request.

"I have to get back to _Val Jean_ ," B'Elanna stated before her husband could speak.

"I'm not going to stand in your way, B'El," Tom responded carefully, his eyes watching as she jumped from the bio bed and paced like a caged animal. "I'm not sure how your actions will be seen by the Federation. Returning to a Maquis ship of your own accord after being granted a full pardon."

"That's what this is about," she exploded, turning on her husband, enraged beyond the ability to control a litany of Klingon profanities even the universal translator refused to touch. "You traded your freedom for mine. Of all the stupid… Tom, look at me. I know what you told me on the Ocampan World. I guess it just didn't really sink in. What made you think I'd accept such an offer? I may not have taken up the fight for the same reasons as Chakotay and the others, but they need me and my skills in a way the Federation would never approve of. I've seen too much, not to be swayed by their cause."

"Go, B'El," he hung his head. Tom Paris was defenceless in the face of such overwhelming odds. "I've asked you to stay before and accepted the consequences for being a romantic."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" B'Elanna demanded, coming to stand face to face with the man she thought would put up more of a fight. It seemed he'd followed her to the array but hadn't believe her declaration of facing the future together.

"I know you'll do what you thinks best for you," the sad smile encompassed his face, "and you should."

Watching as she stalked to the exit cursing in Klingon the entire way, Tom wondered if his life could become any more painfully complicated. Shaking his head, he knew one thing. Nothing like Caldik Prime could possibly occur again. His mind could be as far away as he pleased because there wasn't a chance in the universe that he be piloting anything any time soon. Thomas Eugene Paris could let his thoughts slip back to his wife and those few precious moments of happiness they shared whenever he chose, without causing a major incident and killing three innocent people with his inattention.

"Bring the weapons systems online," Janeway had hit the bridge running, the couple in sickbay forgotten. "Red alert."

"The lead Kazon ship is still hailing us, Captain," Tuvok reported.

"On screen," she ordered. What followed was posturing of the worst kind. Analysing the situation, Janeway knew they needed to go back to the array and locate the Caretaker if they were to have a remote possibility of returning to the Alpha quadrant. So far only Chakotay and Tuvok knew of their secondary objective. Given the animosity between Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres, she didn't know if, or when the married couple would be ready to hear the news.

"Mr. Kim," Janeway called to her operations officer, "hail _Val Jean_."

"Aye, Captain," Harry responded.

"Janeway to Chakotay," she didn't have time for pleasantries. Two events entered the periphery of her awareness. Tom Paris entered the bridge and came to stand at her right shoulder, dressed in Starfleet red. On the Maquis ship, B'Elanna Torres relieved the Bajoran woman at the engineering station. "I see you have your Chief Engineer back. Tuvok and I are beaming back to the Array. Can you hold off the Kazon?"

Chakotay watched the screen, his gaze arrowed in on Paris standing behind his Captain. The man did not look happy. If the emotion rolling of his second officer were any indication, Torres wasn't overjoyed either. Intrigued, he wondered what had happened during their incarceration.

"I think so, Captain," he offered in a soft tone.

"Good," Janeway turned her attention to the person standing beside her. "Mr. Paris, take the conn."

Before the screen flicked off, Chakotay saw the rapid expressions crossing Tom's face. He almost felt sorry for him, until his sarcastic smile settled over the young mans features. That was the Paris the Maquis Captain knew intimately. At his side, B'Elanna made a noise half way between a sob and a grunt, as if she'd just lost something intangible.

"Yes, ma'am," Paris responded automatically. His anxiety shuttered behind a forced façade of nonchalance, Tom moved toward the forward console. Taking in a soft but deep breath, he knew the Captain had given him an opportunity to prove himself. He understood why. All his sacrifice had been for nothing. His wife had chosen the Maquis over him.

The attack continued as the Captain and Acting First Officer beamed off the bridge. _Val Jean_ and _Voyager_ took one raider apiece. Chakotay's ship, smaller and more manoeuvrable, chased their target around the array. Voyagers larger size limited her ability to firing phasers from a greater range.

Before either vessel could claim victory, the Kazon mother ship approached with all weapons trained on Voyager. The smaller craft retreated to a safe distance, waiting for the kill. Jabin took exception to these aliens intruding on his territory. Chakotay watched on his forward screen as his target moved out of weapons range. Analysing the damage to _Voyager_ , he had to conclude the battle was hardly fair.

"Their weapons array has been hit," Chakotay stated. "They're in trouble."

"Neither of us has enough fire power to stop that ship," B'Elanna added.

If her thoughts went to Paris, she didn't display her anxiety. Chakotay understood they had more chance of surviving only if Voyager remained operational. He couldn't even fit the complement of the Federation starship on his vessel, let alone outrun the Kazon mother ship if Janeway's vessel were destroyed.

Making a decision, the Captain of _Val Jean_ opened a channel to Voyager's bridge. What he saw surprised him. Knowing Paris had been a full Lieutenant prior to leaving Starfleet, the man was the most experienced and qualified officer on the bridge.

"I'm setting a collision course, but the guidance system is disabled. I'll have to pilot the ship manually. Get the crew ready to beam to Voyager. And drop shields for transport," Chakotay ordered his second officer. B'Elanna obeyed without a word. She knew the tactics required to win against insurmountable odds.

Looking up in to the ice blue eyes of Voyager's commanding officer, Chakotay smirked. "Paris," he accepted the young man's authority, "my crew's coming over. Tell one of your crackerjack Starfleet transporter chiefs to keep a lock on me. I'm going to try and take some heat off your tail."

"Acknowledged," Paris responded in a clipped tone. He knew the strategies the Maquis used in their cat and mouse game with the Cardassian's. It seemed Chakotay was prepared to sacrifice his ship to save them all. "Paris out."

Just how it occurred, Tom Paris would never know. Somehow the other officers on the bridge had been looking to him for direction since the Captain ordered him to the con. He might be a Starfleet washout, but he was the best option they had. Until that moment, Tom hadn't realised just how inexperienced the bridge crew were.

_Then again,_ he considered _, this was supposed to be a short shakedown cruise. Even Cavit was newly promoted. Hell, I've got more experience in my little finger than that brown noser. Only the Captain and Tuvok have more seasoning. I hate to admit it, but I'd even give my back teeth for Chakotay's wisdom right now._


	14. Stardate 48319.6: Another Way.

A hand landed on Paris's shoulder, another beside him on the con. Suddenly feeling surrounded, he didn't need to look up to know who it belong to. The smell, touch and feel could only be his wife. The emotions it generated within him needed to be quashed unmercifully. Right now, Thomas Eugene Paris, Acting Captain of Voyager required all his mental acuity trained on the battle beyond the view screen.

"I'm holding the lock on him, sir," Rollins reported to the officer currently in charge of the bridge. Tom heard B'Elanna's indrawn breath but couldn't tell if it was for Chakotay or his situation. Either way, it wouldn't matter, unless they won this fight. "He's getting too close."

 **"** I'm getting you out of there, Chakotay," Tom stated over the com. He couldn't afford to lose the experience, even if Paris didn't care for the individual.

 **"** Not yet!" Chakotay responded, taking a direct hit from the Kazon vessel. The console in front of him lit up, blaring klaxons and red lights liberally littering the cockpit.

 **"** You're breaking up. Stand by to transport," Tom ordered. The hand on his shoulder squeezed automatically. His wife and Chakotay had been close, almost from the time she'd joined the Maquis. He knew how B'Elanna would feel if they waited to long.

 **"** Now!" Chakotay commanded.

The soundless explosion started in one of the docking bays. Fires raged, spreading, eating up the ship. Eventually the vessel careered towards the array in a lumberingly slow fall. One of the array's antenna crumpled, then another as the massive ship continued to fall through space, out of control.

Not interested beyond their enemies inability to continue the fight, Tom requested, "transporter Room two, do you have him?"

"They've got me," Chakotay called, stepping off the transporter pad. He might be dressed in his Maquis uniform, but the Starfleet Officer knew exactly what was on the line. Hurrying to the bridge, he wanted to see the result of his handiwork.

Finally reaching his destination, Chakotay stepped out of the turbolift. As much as Tom didn't like the idea, the Maquis Captain was good at his job. He'd also been an exceptional Starfleet Officer.

"Mr. Chakotay, may I suggest you take the bridge while the Captain's on the array, Sir," Paris offered.

"But…." Rollins objected.

"If you have any better ideas, Ensign Rollins," Paris commented, "I'd be happy to hear them. Lt. Commander Chakotay has been first Officer on two Excelsior class starships and taught advanced tactics at the academy for a decade. Right now, I need to keep my concentration on those two Kazon vessels that are coming at us from different directions. I could do with handing command over to a more senior officer."

"Aye, Sir," Rollins responded.

"Orders, Commander," Tom requested without taking his eyes from the forward screen.

Allowing his lips to curl upward, Chakotay took control. "Engineering, what's your name?"

"Ensign Ballard, Sir," the young man stuttered, not sure about protocol in a situation like this.

"Ensign please work with Chief Engineer Torres and see if you can't give the con a little more manoeuvrability," Chakotay ordered.

"Aye, Sir," Ballard decided discretion was the better part of valour.

"Starting evasive pattern Theta Maquis," Tom shouted when the two remaining Kazan vessels converged on their position.

"Interesting move, Mr. Paris," Chakotay smirked, "especially without a weapons array."

As much as it killed him, he stated, "Aye, Sir. Let's just hope it works."

"Phasers are back on line," B'Elanna shouted from her position at the Engineering station.

"Ensign Rollins, lock phasers on the port ship and concentrate fire in that quarter." Chakotay red the situation and understood Paris's plan. "Increase shield strength on the starboard side."

"Port shield at sixty five percent and holding," Harry reported. "Port target disabled."

"The other vessels coming around for another pass," Paris grimaced, his fingers flying over the con. "Changing to pattern Alpha three,"

"Reinforcing rear shields," Rollins called, knowing that manoeuvre was in the Starfleet playbook, "and aft phaser banks charged."

"Fire," Chakotay called.

The Kazon raider exploded in a ball of silent light. That didn't mean the mother ship or smaller vessel ceased there attack.

On the array, Captain Janeway and Tuvok had located the Caretaker. While the Captain took the opportunity of talking to the old man, the Tactical Officer preformed the two duties he been ordered to complete. In a cryogenic containment unit, he managed to transfer two embryos belonging to Mr. Paris and Ms. Torres and beam them directly to the Medical Laboratory for storage. Then Tuvok set about uncovering a course back to the Alpha quadrant.

"Captain," Tuvok interrupted the conversation between the Caretaker and Janeway, "I can access the system to send us back to Federation space, but it will take several hours to activate."

It didn't matter how Voyager's Captain pleaded, the Caretaker stood fast in his determination to destroy the array. "Why should I help you," he looked up with irritation and accusation in his eyes. "The calm one has taken any chance I might have had. Now all is lost."

"If you destroy the Array," Janeway tried again, "we'll have no way to get home."

"Oh, you think so, do you," he scoffed. "You have the means, but do you have the to tenacity use it."

Shocked, the Captain paled. Neither she nor Tuvok could fail to understand the Caretakers prognostication. It wasn't the installation they needed, it was the sporocystine energy.

"Voyager, report," Janeway tapped her com badge when a shudder went through the array.

On the bridge, Paris looked to Chakotay for instruction. The older man nodded his head, indicating Tom should answer. After all, the bridge had been left in his capable hands.

"The Kazon vessel just collided with the array, Captain," he reported. "Are you all right?"

"There's another scout ship approaching from behind the array," Rollins stated.

"Two to beam up," Janeway commanded. A few seconds later, the Captain and Tuvok appeared on the bridge. Eyeing Chakotay standing in her preferred space in the middle of the tri-level command centre, Kathryn wondered what the heck went on while she was on the array. That thought would have to wait, as another blast rocked Voyager. "Mr. Tuvok, ready the tricobalt devices."

"Aye, Captain," the Vulcan responded.

"Open a channel to the Kazon," she requested of her operations officer.

"Channel open," Harry replied.

"Be advised, Captain. I have called for additional ships," the Kazon Maj declared.

"Listen and listen well, Jabin," Janeway didn't care to mince her words, "I'm calling to warn you to move your vessels to a safe distance. I intend to destroy the Array."

"They're increasing fire, Captain," Harry reported. "Shields are holding."

Nodding, the Captain turned her attention to the con officer. "Move us four hundred kilometres from the Array, Mr. Paris."

"Yes, ma'am," Tom responded. Silently he quashed the mixed emotions threatening to engulf his heart and mind. Sparing a glance towards the Engineering station, he knew B'Elanna's untutored temper would get the better of her with that order.

"What do you think you're doing?" She shouted, taking a step towards Janeway. Tom gave Chakotay an imploring look. He needed to step in before B'Elanna ruined any chance of becoming the Chief Engineer. "That Array is the only way we have to get back home."

Quietly, Chakotay moved to stand behind the irate woman. Placing a hand on her shoulder wasn't enough. Torres shook it off.

"I'm aware everyone has families and loved ones at home that they want to get back to," Janeway turned her icy blue eyes on the emotional woman. Yet the Captain knew she was only giving voice to the thoughts of everyone on board. "So do I. But I'm not willing to trade the lives of the Ocampa for our convenience. We'll have to find another way home."

"What other way home is there?" B'Elanna demanded. Imploring first Tom then Chakotay, she hissed, "who is she to be making these decisions for all of us?"

"B'El," Tom managed to look up from his station for a fraction of a second, making the pleasing gesture quietly.

As if in agreement, Chakotay pressed the advantage and encircled Torres to stop her from demonstrating her Klingon anger before the entire bridge. Whispering in her ear, "she's the Captain, and if you want any chance of keeping the title Chief Engineer, then calm down. You won't be happy on this ship unless your running the engine room."

Pulling away from his embrace, she took up her defiant stance. Both Chakotay and Paris knew it meant B'Elanna was thinking about every word they'd said. Maybe, just maybe, they'd get through to her together.

"The tricobalt devices are ready," Tuvok reported.

Pulling his attention back to the job at hand, Tom offered, "we're in position."

The order to fire was given and the bridge crew watched the torpedoes streak towards the Array. Repercussion waves from the initial explosion rocked the station. Slowly, in the vacuum of space, the array fell apart. Within seconds, Jabin declared Voyager his sworn enemy and withdrew.

Looking around the bridge, Janeway didn't like the stunned expressions on the faces of her crew. Decisions needed to be made, and she knew now was the time to start. Everyone needed something to do, until the reality of the situation sank in and they started to loose all hope.

"Ensign Kim, please supply coordinates for the nearest star system to the con," the Captain took command. She knew how many holes she needed to fill in her crew. Like it or not, the Maquis were in this too. They'd just have to learn to pull their weight. Chakotay knew, if the expression on his face were any indication. It came from his long and illustrious career, something she'd considered over the last days. "Mr. Paris, find us somewhere to hide while Voyager effects repairs, then hand the con to Ensign Culhane. You are confined to your quarters until I request your presence in my ready room."

"Yes, Ma'am," Tom's face shut down, expelling any emotion that he might be feeling, and he was experiencing many, in various strengths.

"Lt. Tuvok," the Captain continued, "you have the bridge. Ensign Parson's take Tactical. Mr. Chakotay, please have the members of you crew report to sickbay immediately for full medicals. I'll address the Maquis in the crew mess in three hours. Ensign Parsons, please have a security detail support Mr. Chakotay's efforts and make a ship wide announcement that the officers mess on deck two is out of bounds for the foreseeable future."

"Aye, Captain," the Ensign offered, somewhat astounded by his orders.

Not quite knowing how to address the woman standing several paces from the engineering station, the Captain eyed the half Klingon. Tapping her badge, Janeway requested, "Bridge to Engineering."

B'Elanna's face dropped, only to be covered with a snide smirk. As usual, it didn't matter what she did, nothing was good enough for the Federation types. That's what convinced her she'd made a mistake entering the Academy. Only Tom's quiet confessions of his cadet days reverberated in her mind. He confided the difficulties faced by the son of a prominent Admiral. His four years hadn't been a bed of roses. Glancing over to the con, his back ridgied, B'Elanna wished she could go to him. Too late she realised he brought her peace and between them, they managed to damage their fragile relationship once again.

"Carey here, Captain," the disembodied voice answered.

"How are our engines holding up, Lt. Carey," Janeway asked.

"I don't know who's at the engineering station on the bridge, Captain," he sounded slightly puzzled.

"Report, Mr. Carey," concern laced the Captain's tone. "Is there a problem,"

"No, Captain, the efficiency of the engines is above expectations, given the condition they are in after that temporal wave," he declared. "Also the phaser banks were repaired from the bridge console. I have to say, the method was ingenious, if a little unorthodox."

"Do we have warp," Janeway questioned, her eye's trained on Torres reactions to Carey's high praise.

B'Elanna snorted returning to her station. She hadn't moved a muscle, nor had Chakotay who seemed to be taking stock of his rival, even though they'd both been ordered off the bridge. "You won't have warp until the manifolds for the warp core constrictors are replaced. There's a cracked diode in the port narcelle and the EPS converter is blown on the starboard side. We have manoeuvring thrusters and quarter impulse, if the con is careful with power output."

"That about sum's it up," Carey agreed. He'd slaved the bridge console to his station and watched the person working with astonishment. Whoever she was, she was good.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Bridge out," the Captain concluded. Her next instructions shocked everyone, "Mr. Rollins, my ready room. Ensign Kim, I'll expect you next."

"Aye Captain," the Ensign's chorused.

"Mr. Chakotay, I gave you an order," Janeway glared at the Maquis Captain, before turning towards her ready room and throwing over her shoulder, "and take you Chief Engineer with you."


	15. Stardate 48319.8: Aftermath.

"Coffee, black, hot," Janeway demanded of her replicator. Picking up the cup, she took a long slurp. Only unadulterated caffeine would do after the events of the last few days.

The door chime sounded. Rolling her eyes, the Captain settled herself behind her desk and wondered what occurred on her bridge while she was on the array. True **_she had_** placed Mr. Paris in charge of the con. Even though he didn't have rank insignia on his collar, it seemed the young man took charge, and her crew allowed it. She'd chosen to dress him in Starfleet red, so she had to accept the blame for any consequences.

"What else was I supposed to do," Janeway shook her head, taking a second restoring sip. "Mr. Paris had nothing to his name before his trial and even less exiting the Penal colony. Making him take up the uniform seemed the lesser of two evils."

Looking at the situation logically, and with the perfect vision of hindsight, Mr. Paris had more experience than any two or three officers currently on the bridge, expecpt Tuvok and Chakotay. The Maquis Captain was a whole other issue Janeway didn't want to think about right now. Why that man had been, not only on her bridge, but standing in her spot, she could only guess. Captain Janeway didn't like the direction of her thoughts, knowing she would have to get to them eventually.

"Enter," Janeway called as the door chimed for a second time. Ensign Rollins, the officer she'd left in charge of the bridge, entered nervously. He'd graduated the academy eighteen months previously and held a safe post on Mars prior to his transfer to Voyager. "Please take a seat, Mr. Rollins."

Nodding, the young man approached reluctantly, waiting for the Captain to indicate the reason for his attendance in her ready room.

"Do you have any idea why I've asked for your presence?" Janeway enquired with a deceptively soft smile.

"I believe so, Captain," Rollins responded, keeping his eyes trained on a spot on the wall opposite so he could ignore the disappointment in his commanding officer's gaze.

"Would you care to enlighten me, Ensign," she requested. When the young officer remain mute, Janeway suppressed a weary sigh. "Let's approach this from a different perspective. Can you tell me why Mr. Paris answered my hails to Voyager?"

"Mr. Paris had the con, Captain," Rollins looked perplexed. His eyes stating she'd ordered the man to that station over Culhane who was regular crew. "I assumed he was the ranking officer. Lt. Commander Cavit and Doctor McGary told the entire crew that Mr. Paris was a full lieutenant in the command stream before he left Starfleet."

"I see," Janeway smiled politely. If her first officer wasn't already deceased, her look would do the deed. Cavit and McGary should have kept their opinions to themselves, no matter their perceived provocation. An observer in Starfleet uniform, on her ship by the Captain's invitation, should have been treated with respect. It seemed the junior officers demonstrated less prejudice and more good judgement than Janeway's previous command crew.

"Lt. Commander Chakotay and the rest of the Maquis crew beamed aboard after ramming the Kazon vessel with _Val Jean,_ " Rollins recalled. "Mr. Paris explained his qualifications and handed the bridge over."

"I see," Janeway repeated, trying not to feel both irritated and impressed at the same time. Chakotay and Paris working together, that was a nugget worth its weight in Latinum. With careful questioning, the Captain had a very good idea how the minor miracle came about during the battle that saw _Val Jean_ destroyed to save _Voyager_. The Captain had needed to hear it from Mr. Rollins and obtain conformation from Mr. Kim before she took any future decisions under consideration.

"Thank you, Ensign Rollins," Janeway dismissed the junior officer after a further few minutes of careful questions and when her mind had been satisfied with every detail. "Please request Ensign Kim report."

"Aye, Captain," the young man couldn't get out of her ready room fast enough.

Given a moments respite, Kathryn gazed at the picture on her desk. Mark, Molly and her life in the Alpha quadrant seemed a lifetime away. Snorting, the concept was beginning to sink in. At best, it would take seventy five years to return to Federation territory.

"I need to get us home," she sighed, draining the now cold coffee. Kathryn hadn't allowed the self-flagellation to commence. It would, all to soon, as she lay the blame for the situation completely on her shoulders. _I was the one who gave the order to destroy the array. I'm not even going to think about alternatives. Right now, asking Paris and Torres for their help is not an option and would take far to long anyway._

When the door chimed once again, Janeway knew another cup would have to wait. Harry Kim entered and stood at ease. The green officer seemed nervous but offered his account easily with minimal prompting. Mr. Kim was eager to please. Yet his account of the events were almost identical to Rollins which gave Janeway pause to think.

"If I had to place Mr. Chakotay or Mr. Paris in charge of the bridge again," the Captain asked, her mind working on solving her greatest issue, where to recruit qualified crew, "would you hesitate to follow their orders?"

"No, Captain," Harry felt his face turning into a smile, but quashed it. "Tom, that is Mr. Paris explained Commander Chakotay's experience. Personally," forgetting himself, the ensign's cheeks coloured and his words suddenly stopped.

"You are at liberty to speak freely, Mr. Kim," Janeway stated with a calming smile, eager to hear the inexperienced officers reflections.

"If you left the bridge to Commander Chakotay, I'd be relieved," he sounded embarrassed. "Tom did the best he could under the circumstances, but had the con."

"I understand and your opinion is noted, Ensign," Janeway said. "Dismissed."

Left alone, Kathryn Janeway knew the two crews had to combine. Voyager's losses were substantial. While she could choose to promote Tuvok, giving Chakotay the first officer's position made more sense. Not only did he have the experience, the Maquis Captain held his crew's loyalty. Captain Janeway's mind made command decisions the Starfleet crew would not be happy to accept, but that would be necessary to pull to opposing groups together.

Sighing, Janeway turned her contemplation to Mr. Paris, his unique skill set and untenable position. Like it of not, he was the best pilot aboard with five years experience, two on a starship as Chief Con Officer. He really was her only choice for that position with Lt. Sadi's demise. Which led the Captain to her other problem. B'Elanna Torres. Technically a free citizen, Janeway investigated her Academy record after speaking to Owen Paris before leaving Earth. It was equal parts impressive and objectionable. Then there was her association with the Maquis, uncontrolled Klingon temper and, perhaps most significantly, her relationship with Tom Paris.

Which just brought Captain Kathryn Janeway back to getting home. Safely stored in the Medical Lab were two embryos that might prove their only way back to the Alpha quadrant. Yet she couldn't order Paris and Torres to become parents, especially with the seemingly strained relationship between them.

Taking in a deep breath, she replicated another cup of coffee. Moving to the sofa, the Captain sat and stared out at the stars streaming by her window. Her mind pondered the next moves she needed to make. Three hours didn't seem enough to consider all the issues and problems facing them. Yet, Captain Kathryn Janeway knew she didn't have the time to procrastinate and ultimately all the decisions were hers to make.

"Doctor," Janeway entered sick bay two hours and fifty minutes later.

"I have examined each of the Maquis crew, excluding those I have treated who underwent a full medical on initial presentation," the EMH stated, handing the Captain a PADD. "Only Seska doesn't seem to be who she claims. Orkett's disease will not magically turn Cardassian DNA into Bajoran, even with a bone marrow transplant."

"What are you saying, Doctor," Janeway asked.

"DNA doesn't lie, Captain. Maquis Seska is Cardassian, pretending to be Bajoran," he stated blandly.

Astounded, Kathryn wondered if Chakotay knew, or even suspected. Then again, Tuvok had infiltrated his cell easily. They picked Tom Paris out of obscurity, only to marry the Chief Engineer. Each had, in someway, deceived the Maquis Captain.

 _Are the Maquis really that desperate for crew?_ That question was answered as the Captain stepped through the door. The nose level deafening, it took them some time to acknowledge her presence. They were undisciplined, some appeared unfit and very young. Put together, they were a motley crew.

"Listen and listen carefully," Janeway didn't mince her words. "I'm only going to make this offer once. You can join the crew of Voyager, under the Starfleet rules and regulations. You will be granted provisional status dependent on your experience, given quarters, uniform and keep. Or I can find a class M planet and give you all the equipment you need to make a new life. You have two hours to make your decisions. Mr. Chakotay, I'd like a moment of your time in my private dining room."

Pandemonium broke out, just as Janeway expected. It took the Maquis Captain seconds for follow her. Not willing to waste time, Kathryn turned on him.

"I'll make this short, Mr. Chakotay," the Captain stated succinctly. "Voyager lost thirty two crew, many in command positions. I need a first officer and you are my best, my only candidate. I'll enter into the ships log a provisional rank of Lt. Commander should you accept. I need your answer in the same time frame as your crew. Quarter Master Hernard has been informed and is requisitioning uniforms and lodgings should your people accept."

A sly smile covered Chakotay's features. "You think I didn't come to the same conclusion, Captain," he enquired, "the moment you ordered the Maquis to undertake medicals?"

At her piercing gaze, the former captain held out his hand. Janeway placed her smaller palm into Chakotay's. "My people have decided to play by your rules and I accept your offer, Captain."

"Very good," Kathryn nodded, understanding she'd made the right decision. "Our first order of the day, Commander, is to assign the former Maquis stations and get them ready for duty as soon as possible." Handing Chakotay a PADD, she ordered, "please add whatever information you believe relevant to the personnel files. However, I want Seska confined to quarters until we can decide what to do with her."

"Seska?" Chakotay looked surprised. His Captain indicated he should read her medical file. What the Commander found turned his skin ashen. "I understand," he swallowed.

"Finally, Commander," Janeway looked a little shaken, "we have the issue of Paris and Torres and their surprises currently resting in medical."

"I think you should speak with Paris," Chakotay offered with a monumental sigh, "and I'll tackle Torres."

"I'm not sure telling them about the Caretakers attempts at procreation is idea at the moment," Janeway sighed. "I'm not even sure what to do about their relationship."

"May I suggest," Chakotay turned all Starfleet officer, "you follow the protocols. They aren't married, so they should be quartered separately. That will give them some space from each other. I do request you take their working abilities into consideration." When the Captain allowed one eyebrow to arch, the Commander continued. "I've never met a pair who complement each other so well. Paris can feel the engines and B'Elanna is able to fine tune them to his unspoken demands. Honestly, Captain, I've never experienced such cohesion between the Helm and Engineering."

"I've already decided to reinstate Mr. Paris," Janeway announced, watching her first officer's expression carefully.

"Chief Helmsman?" Chakotay understood. "Then may I suggest B'Elanna as Chief Engineer."

"Thank you for the suggestion, Commander. Dismissed," Janeway waited until he exited her dining room before collapsing on the couch. Shaking her head to clear it.

 _Yet more issues,_ Kathryn considered. _Chakotay doesn't know of the marriage between Tom and B'Elanna. That's going to create problems. In the end, it's up to the couple involved if they want family accomodations. I'll have to bring it up with Mr. Paris. As to making Ms. Torres Chief Engineer, I'll have to take that under very careful consideration._

With little rest for the weary, Captain Kathryn Janeway picked herself off the couch, collected a replicated coffee and headed for the bridge. Her mind working the entire way, she nodded, or stopped to offer a few words to the repair teams. They seemed so young, so inexperienced, yet they had the disaplin and teaching of Starfleet behind them.

"Mr Paris you have a problem," Janeway stated, her blue eyes raking over the young man as he entered her ready room. Kathryn lent back in her chair lazily, observing his behaviour. He wore the uniform well, standing at ease before her, unconcerned at waiting five hours to be summoned to her office.

"Only one, Captain," he mocked.

Trying not to smirk, Janeway lent foreword, placing her wrist on the desk. "Perhaps not," she offered easily. "I've invited Chakotay and the other Maquis to become part of this crew. It seemed the only reasonable thing to do under the circumstances."

Mixed emotions crossed Tom Paris's features. He fought so many feelings threatening to overwhelm him. Finally his face settled on relief. "I understand, Ma'am."

 _No smart quip, just understanding. Not what I expected._ "Do you?" Asked the Captain, rising from her chair.

An arrogant, self-effacing smirk, covered Tom's face. "Permission to speak freely, Captain," he asked.

Nodding, Kathryn wondered what he'd say. This was the disillusioned young man she'd met in Auckland, the one she could deal with and mould to her will. Yet underneath, she perceived a misunderstood personality and an excellent officer.

"Only a fool would overlook Chakotay's experience under present conditions," he stated easily.

"I'm glad you agree, because I asked him to become my first officer," Janeway paused, noticing the slight grimace, but not a word of complaint. "Everyone on this ship will be reporting to him, including you."

"Me, Captain," Tom couldn't hide his surprise tinged with self-loathing and anger, "I wonder how that will be possible from the brig. I suspect you red my file, before coming to see me in Auckland."

"I did," Janeway offered, wondering were Tom was going with this. It gave her insight into his character, and so she allowed it.

"I won't do well in the brig for the rest of my sentence," he stated neutrally.

"No," once again answering with that raised eyebrows and playing with Paris, the Captain offered, "I suspect not. How are you quarters, Mr. Paris?"

"Large enough to spend the next five years confined to them," he quipped mockingly.

"And what am I to do about your wife?" Challenged Janeway.

"B'Elanna?" Shock didn't adequately describe Tom's reaction. Since leaving the bridge, he hadn't seen nor heard from his wife. Not knowing were they stood, he offered casually, "I don't think she's talking to me right now. I guess you'll have to ask her."

"Commander Chakotay is under the impression Ms. Torres would make a good Chief Engineer." The expression behind those sparking blue eyes was all the answer Janeway needed. Mr. Paris obviously agreed, although he tried to hide the fact. Two Starfleet officers, with starship experience, disliking each other but in agreement, couldn't be ignored.

"I take it the Maquis have decided to stay," Tom fished. "You may not have me as a problem much longer, in that case, Captain. I'd be surprised if one of my wife's associates didn't attempt to shorten my sentence for past perceived grievances."

"I hope they don't," Janeway finally smiled teasingly, "or I might have to place them in the brig for insubordination to a senior officer."

"Me!" The expression covering Mr. Paris's face couldn't be faked.

"I've entered in the log, on this date, a field commission to Lt. Thomas Eugene Paris, Chief Con Officer," announced the Captain.

"I'm speechless," Tom stuttered. His mind a maelstrom of emotions, the thought trumping the rest was how to tell B'Elanna, if she'd take the time to listen. She'd made it clear, she never wanted to be a Starfleet wife, following her partner from one post to another. She'd proved that afterTom asked her to come to Caldik Prime.

"Congratulations, Lt. Paris," Janeway offered her hand.

"Captain," Tom looked just a little skeptical, as he accepted the good wishes. "I'm not sure you know what you've started. It's not only the Maquis who will be unimpressed with your decision."

"And yet," Janeway played with him for a moment, "the bridge crew inform me you took both command and the con. Furthermore, they'd follow your orders again."

"I'm flattered," Tom's gaze was unreadable. He expected to be dismissed.

"Mr. Paris. My last item, and perhaps the most, delicate," the Captain stood, coming to stand before the cautiously curious man. "I'm under the impression Mr. Chakotay and his crew are unaware of your marital status."

"B'Elanna did think it was anyone's business but ours," Tom stated, his voice hoarse and slightly challenging.

"On board this ship, Mr. Paris, that is something you will have to sort out with your wife, and quickly," Janeway returned to her icy best. "I can't have dissention, given the extenuating circumstances. Mr. Chakotay informs me, Ms Torres protected your reputation and physical wellbeing on Liberty. He has agreed to a certain level of latitude in this unique situation. However I won't allow any of my senior officers to be placed in compromising situations."

Nodding his understanding, Tom knew he had to find B'Elanna and sort out their relationship.

"I've had the quarter master pack up your belongings and reassigned them to larger quarters on Deck 4," Janeway stated, knowing her helmsman understood.

"Thank you, Captain," Tom saluted and left. He knew a dismissal when he saw one.

 _I hope,_ Kathryn returned to her window, yet another coffee in hand, _I have made the correct decision in regard to Tom and B'ELanna. They don't know they could be our only hope of getting home. For that to occur, I have to have them at least speaking to each other._


End file.
